


Antes Que Luz

by KiaraSayre



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-29
Updated: 2013-04-29
Packaged: 2017-12-09 21:20:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/778109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaraSayre/pseuds/KiaraSayre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim says, "If the valley being haunted's just local superstition, what's there to worry about?" </p><p>"Sinkholes," replies Spock immediately.  "Venomous insects.  Dehydration, starvation, acid burns - "</p>
            </blockquote>





	Antes Que Luz

**Author's Note:**

> Full disclosure: I wrote this over three years ago and it's been languishing on my hard drive ever since. It's also unbetaed, but at least now it will live somewhere other than the My Documents folder and it has at least a few weeks before it is well and truly Jossed. (Abramsed? JJed?)
> 
> Contains spoilers for the 2009 movie as well as spoilers for several of the original movies.

"We're going to investigate a cure for Newcomb's Ague," says Jim, as patiently as he can manage. His fingers drum against the surface of the briefing room table, a counterpoint to Bones tapping at his PADD in the seat on his right. "I'm pretty sure medical cures count as the intersection of 'medicine' and 'science,' so yes, I want my two top medicine and science people there."

Spock's expression changes not one bit. "I was hoping that your tendency to take the entirety of the senior staff along on away missions would prove to not be habitual. I now see I was mistaken."

"Better to have too many people than too few," says Jim.

This time Spock raises an eyebrow. "Then perhaps we had best bring along Mister Scott or Lieutenant Uhura, to be on the safe side."

"Now that would be overkill." Jim begins ticking off the away team members on his fingers. "You, in case we need something science-y. Bones, in case we need something medical. Sulu, since the constant and unpredictable hurricanes will be hell to fly the shuttle in, and he's the best pilot we've got. Alonso, because she requested shore leave to visit family and also wrote her dissertation on some geological feature that's around here somewhere, apparently."

"Your reasoning is sound," says Spock, and Jim narrows his eyes suspiciously. "The personnel you have listed together make a well-rounded and streamlined away team. With the exception of yourself."

"Yeah, I'm not sitting this one out," says Jim. "I'm the Captain. If I want to vet the people we're going to be playing taxi-service to, that's my prerogative."

"If you simply wish to make yourself known to Doctor Acherra, there will be plenty of time for that aboard the ship as we take her to Betelgeuse."

Jim turns to Bones. "Back me up, here."

Bones looks up from his PADD. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize either of you wanted outside input on this. The way you've been going at it for the past fifteen minutes - "

"It hasn't been that long," Jim protests.

Bones puts down the PADD altogether. "Much as I hate to say it, Spock's got a point. The captain of a ship isn't supposed to go running around on every away mission. But - " he says, before Jim can interrupt, "you're also the captain and get to do pretty much whatever the hell you want until the Admiralty busts your balls for it, and although it's just a matter of time, they haven't done it yet."

Jim considers this, and decides to take it as a win. "There you go, then," he says. "Matter settled."

" _Except_ ," adds Bones, "that crew physicals are due in a week and I have to sign off on each of them personally. I'd recommend taking Chapel – she's got some research experience."

"You just don't want to risk the shuttle down," Jim accuses.

"I find this to be an acceptable compromise," says Spock.

Jim has to fight to resist the temptation to hit his head against the briefing-room table. "It's kind of funny," he says, sounding not at all amused, "how people keep forgetting that since I'm the captain, I'm the one who gets to make the final call on this sort of thing."

"I would hope you would take the opinions of your senior staff into account."

"Just let it go, Jim, you're not gonna win this one," says Bones tiredly, as the comm beeps.

"Commander Spock, we're reading some solar flare activity from the New Antilles's sun that could be problematic," comes a young lieutenant's voice, and Spock gives Jim an expectant look.

Jim waves a hand. "Go on," he says. "Make sure the ship doesn't crash."

Spock stands up, tucking his own PADD under one arm, and leaves without another word.

Jim really does let his head hit the table this time. "I don't think we're going to make it to six months without killing each other."

"You've made it four," Bones points out.

"It's the assignments," says Jim. "Four months of border patrol on the most boring-ass end of Federation space is bound to make anyone go crazy."

"We're not on border patrol any more."

"No," Jim agrees darkly, pulling his head back up. "Now we've managed to work our way up to _shuttle service_."

"This cure could save a lot of lives if it pans out," says Bones. "I'm not complaining."

"Assuming it works," says Jim. "New Antilles isn't exactly known for its biomedical engineering."

"It's also got, what, twelve million inhabitants total? That barely counts as populated. It isn't known for _anything_." Bones peers at Jim, then sighs. "Okay. What's wrong?"

"What makes you think something's wrong?"

"Oh, maybe the way you've been downright pissy for the past month?" suggests Bones.

Jim looks at him for a long moment, then asks, "Is this really what you had in mind when you joined Starfleet? Four months of patrolling empty space, then ferrying around whoever the Federation thinks needs a ride?"

"You're asking the wrong person," says Bones. "I'm a doctor. My professional goals involve putting myself out of business. Besides, we're a ship full of green cadets, what were you expecting? Of course they're not going to give us the really good missions."

"We're being wasted here," says Jim hotly. "We could be doing so much more – we could be seeing the universe, helping people, making discoveries, I know we could!"

Bones gives him a look. "Jim, I know you've got an almost disturbing faith in your own abilities, but over three-quarters of the crew have only been out of the Academy for four months. Sure, we managed to save the world once, but that doesn't mean we can do it again – not without a little bit of practice on some milk-runs, anyway."

Jim doesn't say anything for a long moment, then shakes his head. "Tell Nurse Chapel I'll want her at the mission briefing at fifteen hundred hours."

Bones stares at him, then throws up his hands in defeat. "Fine." He stands up, too. "I'll pass it along." He pauses at the door, looking back at Jim. "I'm sorry," he says, bitingly sarcastic, "that the past few months have been so _boring_ for you."

Bones doesn't wait for a response, and Jim doesn't rush to give him one; but once the door is closed, he closes his eyes and puts his head in his hands. "Not boring," he mutters to himself. " _Wrong_."

Fifteen hundred hours finds him back in the briefing room, along with the rest of the away team. Chapel and Alonso are sitting on one side of the table when he enters again, with Spock and Sulu on the other side – the setup is vaguely reminiscent of an uncomfortable and gender-segregated high-school dance. The chatter, he notices, stops abruptly the second he passes over the threshold, and he barely suppresses a sigh and makes a mental note to make sure he's not taking his bad moods out on the crew.

"Afternoon, kids," he says, taking his seat at the head of the table. "Okay, Spock. New Antilles. Go."

Spock taps his PADD a few times, then begins. "The planet commonly known as New Antilles is mostly a water world," he says, "with only three landmasses large enough to be considered continents. The rest of the dry land on the planet belongs to archipelagos and islands, including the island of Martí, our destination. New Antilles was colonized by generation ship in the early days of human space travel by the Coalition of Caribbean States, and due to this was isolated for almost one hundred years after the first arrival of humans. The current inhabitants of Martí are genetically a mixture of the human colonists, largely of Cuban ancestry, and the natives of New Antilles, and they have declined invitations to join the Federation several times.

"Martí is mostly a self-sufficient island nation, although it trades regularly with the other nations of New Antilles. As New Antilles itself is considered to be out of the way of most Federation trade routes and is positioned in such a way as to have very little importance, in terms of interplanetary politics, the planet as a whole is largely isolated and isolationist, although it has on several occasions provided medical aid to nearby planets in cases of natural disasters and severe emergencies, such as the interference of solar flares on Vasser III and the Great Tectonic Disaster of Walinton II."

He clears his throat before continuing. "As all of you are aware, approximately three months ago, a new sickness was reported in the Newcomb system. The illness has since spread throughout the sector, despite all efforts to contain it, and as of yet no cure has been discovered. However, three weeks ago Starfleet received a message from the Martían government claiming that a possible cure had been found. As Martí and, indeed, New Antilles as a whole do not maintain an active starship fleet, the Federation has sent us to investigate these claims."

Jim leans forward, planting his elbows on the table. "Spock, Nurse Chapel, you've both read the reports," he says. "What do you think?"

Nurse Chapel glances at Spock, who motions for her to go first. "Well," she says slowly. "So far it's only been tested on Martían cell bases, so there's no way to know how it will work on pure humans – or pure non-humans, of course. Newcomb's Ague is unique in how many different species it effects, and so even if the cure works it's highly unlikely that it'll work on _everyone_ , but it looks promising – assuming the results can be replicated."

Jim glances at Spock, who inclines his head. "I concur with Nurse Chapel's assessment."

He then turns to Alonso. "Lieutenant, you've got family in Martí, is that right?" She nods, a bit nervously. "Anything else to add?"

She hesitates, then shrugs. "I've never been there before, sir. But I've talked to my cousins, and they say we're going to have to watch out for the hurricanes – there's so much open water that they get really powerful, and the lightning can create electromagnetic interference."

"At this moment," says Spock, "the most critical issue is the solar flares. The sun of the system is in the height of its activity cycle, and, as expected, the solar flares will not allow teleportation or, at the moment, even communication from the surface of the planet."

"So pretty much what we were expecting," says Jim, and Spock considers for a moment and then nods. "Excellent," says Jim, hitting the table lightly. "Well, then, I'll see you all at twenty-hundred hours in the transporter room. As the local time when we hit ground will be approximately twelve hundred hours, I recommend a nap in the meantime."

Jim doesn't take a nap. He goes to sickbay instead, and sits himself petulantly in front of Bones, who's sitting at his desk.

"What now?" says Bones, sighing.

"We need to administer the field-command exam to Scotty," says Jim, kicking his feet up and resting them on Bones's desk.

"I don't see why you're telling _me_ ," says Bones. "And get your feet off my desk."

Jim lets his feet fall to the ground, but stays slouching in his chair. "I'm telling _you_ because you're the one who gets to be in command while my First Officer and I are planetside during the meet-and-greet," he says. "And you're way more likely to remember than I am."

Bones snorts. "Right, because with three-hundred-some crew physicals to deal with, I'm really likely to remember. Still pining for bigger and better missions?"

Jim ignores him. "Maybe we should give the exam to Chekov, while we're at it," he says to himself. "We've given him the conn a couple times already anyway..."

"This still has nothing to do with me," says Bones. "What are you even doing here? Shouldn't you be prepping for the mission?"

"What's to prep for?" asks Jim, trying not to roll his eyes. "We fly down there, Chapel and Spock look at the cure, and if it works we have maybe some diplomatic talks to make the Martíans feel appreciated and then we come back up. Easy."

"If it's going to be so damn boring, why are you going at all?" asks Bones patiently – for him, anyway.

"Because if I stay on this ship I'm going to lose my _mind_ ," says Jim fiercely. "We could be fighting Klingons right now, for God's sake!"

"So, essentially," says Bones, interlacing his fingers and sitting forward, "you're finding it frustrating to see the ship and the crew fall short of its potential?"

Jim frowns at him. "You make me sound like my mother."

" _You_ make you sound like your mother," Bones corrects him. "Now can I have my office back, or do you want to keep bitching about how you haven't punched anyone in the face for a whole entire month?"

"Three months," mutters Jim, fully aware of how very petulant he sounds.

"Look, I get it," says Bones. "You went from black sheep of the Academy to captain of the flagship, but now there's not the glory you thought there'd be, and you have all this paperwork, and it turns out that being a captain is also an actual job and not an excuse to run around the galaxy playing the hero."

"That's not it at all," protests Jim.

Bones leans his elbows on the desk. "Then what the hell _is_ it, Jim? When we first came on board, I thought you might actually be growing up, but here you are, complaining about having a crew and a ship and, oh yeah, _no commanding officer_."

"I know we can do more than this," repeats Jim stubbornly.

"Is this about that mind-meld business again?" Bones demands.

Jim slouches down further. "I knew I should never have told you," he mutters.

"And I've still got half a mind to hand your ass over to Starfleet Mental Health," snaps Bones.

"And I can't help but notice that you haven't," says Jim. "The point is that I know what we can do, and - "

"You mean to tell me that even without Nero, you were captain of the Enterprise within four months of graduating from the Academy?" asks Bones, eyebrow raised in disbelief. "Because I find that a bit hard to swallow."

"Okay, no," Jim concedes, "but that's still not the point - "

Bones cuts him off. "No, Jim, the point is that whatever the future was is different now – you're the captain, and that means you've got to _be_ the captain, no matter how boring it may be for the time being. Eventually, when we're not all of _four months_ out of the Academy, they'll give us the missions that involve shooting Klingons and kissing beautiful alien women, or whatever the hell you've gotten it into your head that this job's about. But good God, man, you could give patience at least a token effort!"

Jim doesn't meet Bones's eyes, but instead stares at the edge of his desk. "It's not..." he says, very quietly. "It's not what I thought it would be."

He makes the mistake of looking up, then, and the expression on Bones's face is a mixture of exasperation and sympathy, and he can see exactly what Bones is thinking: _you expected too much_. The worst part is, Jim knows it's true; the reality of the situation – empty space patrol after empty space patrol, interaction with his crew that's at best awkward since they still don't have the measure of him, or even the camaraderie of a few life-or-death situations behind them, and worst of all, a relationship with Spock that's civil at best – doesn't match up at all with what he'd anticipated. The last is the one that rankles the most, though, since although the rest of the memories and impressions left over from the mind-meld are indistinct, the one thing he's bone-deep certain of is that Spock is one of his best friends. Which would be a lot easier to remember if they didn't argue so much.

Jim clears his throat, and stands up. "I'd better get ready for the mission," he says. "I'll let you get back to work."

"Jim," Bones calls, when Jim's halfway to the door. Jim turns around, half-expecting another lecture, but Bones just says, "It'll get better." Jim just nods, slightly uncertainly, and Bones adds, "Be safe. And I mean it - I don't want to see you in sickbay after this, you understand?"

That actually makes Jim smile. "Understood, sir," he says, straightening and saluting.

Bones just scowls.

Sulu's already in the shuttle bay when Jim arrives, uploading the set-down coordinates to the shuttle's navigational computer.

"Any weather concerns, Lieutenant?" asks Jim, shoving his extra equipment in the storage compartment above the passenger seats.

"Apparently, we managed to arrive on the one day that Martí _isn't_ having hurricanes," says Sulu, flipping some more switches. "The weather looks gorgeous. Our set-down's in a town called New Viñales, about ninety kilometers west of the capital city of Guillén - "

"Sounds good. Does Alonso know we're not landing in the capital?"

"Does Alonso what?" comes Alonso's voice, and Jim and Sulu both turn to the entrance of the shuttle to see Lieutenant Alonso, an overnight bag slung over her shoulder. Jim frowns, then places what feels off – Alonso's wearing the skirt variation of the Starfleet uniform, and he's only ever seen her in pants.

"We've been cleared to land in New Viñales," says Sulu. "I don't know how far that is from your family - "

"They're in Guillén, but I figured that could happen – Martí has a comprehensive underground train system," says Alonso, stowing her bag. "I can just take that to the capital."

"Well, since that's settled," says Jim, sitting in the copilot's chair.

Sulu checks a few of the readouts. "It looks like there's still some solar flare activity," he says, flipping a few switches. "Comms are going to be out for at least a couple days."

"We knew that was a possibility," Jim points out. "Same reason we're taking the shuttle instead of beaming. Not a problem."

Chapel and Spock enter together next – Chapel, Jim notices, is also wearing a skirt, and he frowns, wondering if there was some sort of conspiracy that he wasn't let in on.

Sulu leans forward and hits the comm. "This is shuttle seven to Enterprise helm, requesting clearance for launch, course two-six-five mark five."

The comm crackles, and Chekov's voice replies. "Shuttle seven, you are clear for launch."

Jim straps in, just in case, although he doubts it'll be necessary. Sulu glances over at him, but straps himself in, too, and Chapel, Spock, and Alonso all follow suit. The shuttle's door closes, and the red light warning for decompression turns on, casting strange shadows in the shuttle bay.

The ride is surprisingly smooth, and Jim spends most of it staring out the viewscreen. New Antilles is quite frankly beautiful; there are more massive patterns of sandbars, visible from low orbit, than there are islands, and giant swaths of white clouds whirl in hurricanes. Jim picks out the archipelagos and the only continent in view, but mostly watches the glitter of the oceans and the blindingly bright cyclones.

The landmasses begin to grow, and even before they truly hit atmosphere Jim can't see the entire hemisphere. He watches the horizon begin to flatten out as they get lower, but eventually the heat from reentry makes the viewscreen all but useless. Soon Sulu begins decelerating, and the view clears a bit, but by then he can only see what must be Martí stretched below him, with the edges of the ocean at the very corners of his vision. Martí seems nice enough – mostly flat, although every now and then there's a ripple of mountain. It's very green, he can't help but notice, with the occasional striped pattern of agriculture.

The row patterns, too, are getting bigger, and he can see miniature farmhouses and pick out individual palms, then cars, then people. The farms they're flying over are alternating rows of green and red more vibrant than he thinks he's ever seen, but it gives way to wide plains of what looks like Earth-normal grass, albeit a bit more purple. Strange, blue-hazed mountains resolve in the distance, and eventually a large stucco-and-red-tile complex appears; Sulu sets down just to one side of it, on a stretch of deep-red clay.

Jim takes off his safety straps and stretches, then turns around. "Well, here we go," he says to himself as Spock opens the shuttle door.

A wave of incredibly humid heat rolls over him, but also the mellow smell of earth – or dirt, rather. Alonso, Chapel, and Spock file out before him, and he pulls his bag over one shoulder before heading out himself.

There's a Martían woman walking towards them from the complex. She looks more or less like the Martíans Jim's seen in the records; skin darker than Uhura's and tinged slightly blue, with symmetrical and iridescent blue markings on the sides of her oval face. A quick glance shows Jim that the markings continue on her narrow, long-fingered hands, and her hair is contained within a white scarf knotted around her head. She almost seems short, although Jim also takes note that her shoes are flat, despite her relatively short skirt and blouse.

"Welcome to New Viñales," she says, her voice lightly accented, as she reaches them. "My name is Lourdes Yareida, and I have been selected as administrator for your visit. Please, follow me."

Jim glances around – Alonso is looking around curiously, whereas Chapel has already started walking after Yareida. Sulu is wiping his forehead, and suddenly the skirt conspiracy makes a lot more sense – Jim can feel that his uniform is already getting damp with sweat, and the idea of having lots of skin exposed to the cool breeze looks better every second.

Spock, on the other hand, is frowning at the horizon. Jim follows his gaze, and sees the mountains in the distance – although they don't look like mountains this close, really, since they're oddly blunted on top. Jim looks back at Spock – and Spock's already gone, following Yareida.

Jim sighs, and follows too.

There are two Martían youths sitting in the lobby of the stucco building, one male and one female; the girl is sitting at the computer while the boy looks over her shoulder, and the computer's playing music of a kind Jim's unfamiliar with, a strange mix of light piano and a heavy beat. Yareida gives them a tense look and a minute shake of her head, and the music abruptly stops.

Yareida leads them into another room, this one, at least, with environmental controls. There's a long wooden table, and Yareida stands behind the seat at the head, motioning for them to sit as well. Jim stands behind his own seat, the one closest to her, and clears his throat.

"I'm sorry I haven't introduced myself yet," he says, as politely as he can. "I'm Captain James T. Kirk, of the Enterprise." He begins motioning to the rest of the away team as he introduces them. "This is Commander Spock, First Officer and Science Officer. Nurse Chapel, one of our medical experts. Lieutenant Sulu, our pilot. And Lieutenant Alonso, Geology."

"Mucho gusto," murmurs Alonso, and Yareida raises her eyebrows, looking surprised. "Soy pinareña," Alonso adds, and Yareida smiles. "I have family in Guillén."

"Ah," says Yareida, her smile slipping away. "Perhaps we had best - " She turns to the doorway, and calls, "Osiel?"

The boy from the lobby comes in, carrying a tray with seven small cups of coffee. He carefully sets one down in front of everyone, and Jim glances at his. It's bright blue, with – of all things – a simple smiling face painted onto it. Then he glances at everyone else – Alonso is sipping hers, whereas Chapel looks like she's trying to find a polite way to get rid of it, and Spock drinks his down in one fluid gulp.

Jim surreptitiously sniffs it, then takes a sip – and almost gags. It's a hell of a lot stronger than the replicators on the Enterprise make, and even stronger than _Scotty_ makes, and has about five times as much sugar to boot.

He puts it down and turns to Yareida. "I'd been hoping that Doctor Acherra might be able to join us," he says, "since we're here to discuss her work..."

Yareida downs her coffee like a shot, then carefully puts the mini-mug on the table. "I'm afraid that won't be possible," she says finally. "You see, Doctor Acherra is most probably dead."

Jim can feel his own eyebrows raise in surprise. "'Most probably?'" he repeats.

"To prepare for your visit, she went into the Valley several days ago," explains Yareida. "She never returned."

"Did you send a rescue team?" asks Jim.

"Into the Valley?" Yareida shakes her head. "You see, the Valley is...very inhospitable to life, human or humanoid. There are no settlements, no agriculture based there – Acherra was the only botanist willing to work there, and the only one with a considerable working knowledge of it. There are no maps, except along the edges, and very few people have even survived overnight. Very occasionally, we get tourists, spelunkers or climbers from other areas of the planet. Acherra was typically the one to attempt to rescue them – and so it was usually she who discovered the bodies."

"If Doctor Acherra was familiar with the terrain, is it possible she yet survives?" suggests Spock.

"If anyone could survive, it would be her," Yareida agrees. "But it has been three days. It is...unlikely, to say the least." She looks over at Alonso. "You say you're from Pinar del Rio. Are you familiar with the Valley of Viñales?"

"I wrote my dissertation on it, at the University of la Habana," says Alonso, before turning to the rest of the away team. "Geologically speaking, it began as a limestone plateau, but semi-acidic rainwater dissolved away the faults and eroded anything that wasn't limestone, creating the mogotes – mountains, almost, but flatter and rounder. I noticed some off in the distance, to the west - I assumed that was why this town is called New Viñales."

"It is," says Yareida. "However, New Antilles has more carbon dioxide in its atmosphere than Earth, and so the majority of rain that falls is at least slightly acidic – the erosion and dissolution are much more pronounced in our Valley. Within the mogotes and beneath the Valley itself is a network of caves, or at least we assume so – sinkholes open with very little notice, underground caverns collapse to the same effect, and the majority of the water itself is acidic and not filtered naturally – even wellwater can be unsafe to drink. A large percentage of the flora is poisonous and there is very little fauna, with the exception of several venomous insects – to say nothing of the rumors of giant, carnivorous rodents. The majority of the soil is largely dry and useless, as the water sinks into the ground."

"Is that all?" says Jim, trying for nonchalant. He can see Spock and Chapel trade glances in his peripheral vision, but he can also see that Sulu's interest, too, has been piqued.

Yareida is quiet for a moment, her hands folded neatly on the table before her. Then she says, "There are...cultural and mythological aspects as well," she admits.

Spock raises an eyebrow. "Local superstitions?"

"To some extent." Yareida opens her mouth to say more, then closes it, hesitating. Then she speaks. "You must understand, New Viñales is not a large enough town to have a full-time administrator. I myself am a scholar – an historian, specifically of the Harrihani, the natives of this planet whose ancestry we all share. If I go on excessively, please do not hesitate to stop me."

Jim frowns. "Okay..." he says doubtfully.

"Very well." She takes a breath. "The history of the Valley is...rare. That is to say, strange. The Harrihani who lived here were greatly reduced in numbers when humans arrived, and most of what we know about the history of this island from before their arrival is from the Harrihani. There are collaborating records from the mainland, though – of a great light in the sky, as though the very clouds themselves were set aflame. The Harrihani said there was a great war, fought with a ferocity previously unseen, between rivaling political groups. The light was a weapon of some kind, one so terrible that when it was used, the ground itself rebelled and swallowed the battlefield, and the warriors who had survived, whole. The Valley, supposedly, is the scar left by this swallowing, the graveyard of the Harrihani, whose hatred lasted beyond their deaths and poisoned the soil, turning it red with blood." She hesitates again, and continues. "There is the...not uncommon belief that the Valley is haunted by their ghosts, still waiting in their graves to fight their war in the bodies of any who enter the Valley."

There's a silence, for a long moment. Jim blinks repeatedly, then glances once more around the table; Chapel's eyes are nervous, Alonso's wide, and Spock is frowning in the way that means he's already judged the subject of the conversation to be beneath his notice and is no longer paying attention. Sulu looks...curious? Good man.

"It's not true, of course," says Yareida eventually. "Well, perhaps the war, although the possibility of explosive weaponry of the type discussed is unlikely given the level of technology we've uncovered. But a sinkhole would not be out of the question. The haunting is...also unlikely."

"Just unlikely?" says Chapel, looking supremely disconcerted.

Yareida looks her straight in the eye. "At night," she says, "the Valley howls. There is no other word for it. Perhaps it has to do with the resonance of gusting winds, or some unique quality of the mogotes, but we are five kilometers away and we can hear it on a quiet night. I do not necessarily believe that it is the spirits of the Harrihani, crying out for vengeance – honestly, I don't know what it is. I do know that when my parents told me to eat my vegetables or the souls of the Harrihani would get me, I ate them."

"And Acherra's research can't be duplicated without her?" asks Jim thoughtfully. Spock gives him a sharp look, but Jim ignores it.

Yareida shakes her head. "Acherra was a botanist, first and foremost. She worked with a virologist, Doctor Gutien, who assisted her in creating the cure, but it was she who discovered the plant in the Valley that contained the cure. She was the only one who would recognize it, or locate it. No samples remain from which to recreate it."

"And she didn't leave any notes?" asks Chapel. "Nothing behind to let anyone know - ?"

"She kept her notes in her field notebook," says Yareida. "Which was with her. In the field."

"Makes sense," mutters Sulu.

"So even if she is dead," says Jim, "her notebook might still be recoverable."

Spock's look intensifies. "Captain," he says. "I believe I know what you are planning, and I cannot possibly object strenuously enough."

"Noted, Commander," says Jim. "But I'd like to point out that our orders were to investigate the possible cure and retrieve it. Without Doctor Acherra, or, at the very least, her notebook, we can do neither."

"I would hope that you would not seriously intend to risk all of our lives on the vague possibility that we might _not_ die in a horribly hostile alien environment," says Spock, his voice mild.

"Nurse Chapel, how many lives would this cure save?" Jim asks.

Chapel looks between him and Spock. "I don't – it's hard to say. It depends on - "

"Ballpark," says Jim.

"It could be as few as none," says Chapel pointedly, before admitting, "or as many as billions."

"I like those odds," says Jim. "And besides, if the haunting's just local superstition, what's there to worry about?"

"Sinkholes," replies Spock immediately. "Venomous insects. Dehydration, starvation, acid burns - "

"We've faced worse," protests Jim.

" - _giant, carnivorous rodents_ ," finishes Spock. "To say nothing of the threats we are not even aware of. I find it difficult to believe that your intentions are as pure as you say they are in regards to this mission."

"Meaning what?" demands Jim. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Osiel in the doorway, holding another tray of tiny coffee mugs; in the other corner, he sees Yareida frantically wave him away, and can practically imagine what she's thinking - _no more coffee for these guys, it's giving them crazy ideas_.

"Meaning that you have expressed your displeasure with the nature of our current missions several times, and at volume and length," says Spock. "Perhaps an - _adventure_ of the sort you propose is precisely what you wanted."

"Oh, yeah," says Jim, "I came down here in the three hours between when we made orbit and when we left the ship and politely asked Doctor Acherra to disappear three days ago so that we could go on a little nature walk. Did I forget to mention that?"

Yareida clears her throat, briefly, and both Jim and Spock shut up.

"I don't suppose," Jim mutters in Alonso's general direction, "there's any chance that the universal translator conveniently stopped working for that last conversation?"

"What translator?" asks Alonso, looking determinedly at her small, smiling coffee cup. "She's been speaking English this whole time."

"I grew tired of seeing Federation journals butcher my papers in their translations," says Yareida. "I believe that the truly talented linguists and translators are aboard the ships, not doing academic translation work. I decided to learn English myself."

"Oh," says Jim, feeling like a moron. "You speak it very well."

"Thank you," says Yareida. "I am glad to have the practice."

"Glad to help," says Jim. "Ah...if you'll excuse me, I think I could use some time to consult with my team, but we'll be right back."

"No need," says Yareida, standing up. "I must also consult with several of my associates."

"Right," says Jim, as Yareida leaves. Then he turns to his away team. "Well, I think that could've gone better," he admits.

"Sir, it's a _bad idea_ ," says Chapel.

"It could backfire really easily," says Sulu, sounding like he wants to be convinced otherwise.

"It is thoughtless, reckless, suicidal, and above all ill-advised," says Spock.

"If we go, can I bring my geological equipment?" says Alonso, looking thoughtful. All five other members of the away team turn to stare at her, and she shrugs. "I wrote my dissertation on exactly this sort of terrain. There's a lot still left to learn."

"I do not believe the potential gain outweighs the potential risks," says Spock flatly. "There is a difference between risking the lives of the crew when there is no alternative and doing so simply for the excitement. And I believe - "

"Let me tell you what _I_ believe," interrupts Jim. "I think we can do this. Not only that, but I think we could do this with both hands tied behind our backs, although I admit I don't want to test that one empirically. I think that if we try and come back empty-handed, then it's still better than running off with our tail between our legs."

"And if we do not survive?" asks Spock. "Would it be worth it then?"

"That's not going to happen."

"Because you don't believe in the no-win scenario," says Spock, raising an eyebrow like a challenge.

Jim opens his mouth to say that _no_ , he doesn't, but he suddenly remembers something that never happened – or hasn't happened yet – his hand, pressed against glass, fingers splayed and divided , index and middle, ring and pinkie. _The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few...or the one. I have been, and always shall be, your friend._

It's suddenly hard to breathe, it takes Jim a moment to get the words past the painful aching in his throat. "I think I know a no-win scenario when I see one. And this isn't one."

Spock looks unconvinced, but Jim doesn't look away from him.

"If we're going to go," adds Alonso, "now's the time. Today, or maybe tomorrow – if we wait too long – we don't want to get stuck out there in the middle of a hurricane, especially in terrain like this..."

"I won't make it an order," says Jim, and Spock's eyebrow goes right back up again. "Spock's right – this isn't a risk we have to take, and I won't make it a risk that any of you are required to take. This one's strictly volunteer-only."

"I'll go," says Sulu immediately.

"I'll go," agrees Alonso.

Chapel hesitates, then sits up a bit straighter. "If there's even the possibility Acherra's alive...I'm in."

"It would hardly be appropriate for me to return to the ship without my commanding officer when I stand the most to gain from your risking your life," Spock points out.

"Then I'll put it in writing that I ordered you back to the ship," says Jim. "That way, on the offchance that we all die horribly, you can blame it on me being reckless and careless and – what was the other thing you said?"

"Ill-advised," says Spock.

"Well, I guess I'm taking my own advice, so that one works, too," says Jim. Spock is looking at him strangely now, as though he's not entirely certain what to make of the strange creature before him. "What?"

"As captain, it is your prerogative to order us all to go," says Spock.

"You know," says Jim, "we've been having all these discussions about the captain's prerogative, and you still don't get it, do you? Captain's prerogative means I can order you if I feel like it, or I can ask you if I feel like it, or I can just say 'volunteers only' and leave it at that."

"In that case," says Spock, "I volunteer."

Jim frowns at him. "What, seriously?"

"Indeed," says Spock. "If Doctor Acherra is already dead, then she will be unable to explain her notes, and if it is a field notebook it is likely to be written in some kind of shorthand notation. Although I admit that I am not a botanist by training, I believe I have the most experience in that particular field. I may prove to be of some use."

There's a soft knock on the door, then it opens, and Yareida comes in, her face carefully blank. "I take it a decision has been made?" she asks, and Jim wonders how long she's been eavesdropping and waiting for them to make up their minds.

"We're going into the Valley," says Jim. "Our mission is to retrieve the cure, and so that's what we're going to do."

"Very well," says Yareida, before taking a breath and straightening herself. "I have been authorized to accompany you. After Doctor Acherra, I am the most knowledgeable about the Valley and its caves. I have sent Osiel and Idis out to begin gathering supplies, and I believe the best time to depart would be early tomorrow morning."

Jim stares at her. "You want to come, too?"

Yareida nods, hesitantly. "Doctor Acherra and I were the only two researchers to consistently work in the Valley. We were friends, of a sort, and though I do not believe that even she could survive this long...I would like to see her body retrieved and buried properly, and her work continued."

Jim looks her over – he would've figured her for a desk jockey, quite frankly, but he also knows that they can use all the help they can get. "Looks like we've got ourselves a plan," he says instead.

Over the course of the next couple hours, Jim learns just how much "having a plan" does _not_ preclude the possibility of yet more planning.

They compile a list of everything they could possibly need, from water purification tablets to field rations to weak basic solutions, to treat acid burns. Chapel, Alonso, and Spock all give Sulu extensive lists of equipment to pick up from the Enterprise, and even Jim pulls him aside at the shuttle, right before he's about to go up.

"Look," he says quietly, "if Bones asks, you're just picking up some equipment. In fact, there's no reason to bother Bones with this at all – he's probably swamped with the physicals, so if the message that gets passed along is that there've been a few minor complications and we might be planetside a few days...well, that wouldn't be a bad thing."

Sulu suppresses a grin, and nods. "Understood. Uh...what about Lieutenant Uhura, sir?"

"What about her?" says Jim.

"She'll see right through it," says Sulu immediately. "You know she will."

"Then I'm ordering you to improvise. Oh, and Lieutenant - " Jim hands Sulu a small thumb drive. "That's for Bones, in case we don't come back. I don't think it'll be necessary, but I figure – better safe than sorry. For this, anyway."

"Understood," Sulu repeats, tucking the thumb drive away.

"Good," says Jim, thumping him on the shoulder. "Safe flying."

"Safe planning," Sulu replies, grinning outright this time. Jim makes a face, but goes back inside.

Jim is sitting in the room that they've co-opted, going over the last-minute preparations with Yareida, when Sulu returns, sliding into the seat beside him.

"Lieutenant Uhura was busy," he says smugly. "Apparently there was some kind of mysterious transmission that she was trying to track – she never even talked to me. As far as Doctor McCoy's concerned, we're looking into some anomalies in the trial data."

"He didn't ask for more information?" asks Jim, frowning.

"He did," Sulu agrees. "But I told him I'm just the pilot."

"Ah, the ignorant-flyboy card," says Jim approvingly. "I've used that a couple of times. It worked?"

"Like a charm."

"Good," says Jim. "Alonso, Chapel, and Spock?"

"Inspecting the equipment they requisitioned," says Sulu.

They adjourn their planning for an early dinner, still served in the same room; Osiel and Idis bring in heaping platters of food, and they take their own plates and utensils and serve themselves. There's some sort of meat that almost tastes like pork, served in a distinctly garlicky sauce; some sort of fibrous, buttery yellow tuber that Alonso and Yareida call yucca; white rice and a black bean soup, and an assortment of fresh tropical fruits.

"I take it these are not foods endemic to Martí?" asks Spock, ladling black beans over his rice. Jim notices that his plate is meat-free.

"No, the majority of these are plants that were transported from Earth," Yareida agrees, pouring herself a glass of the thick, pale-pink juice. "There are endemic plants and animals that are of course safe for us – that is, Martíans – to eat, although no considerable research has been done on their effects on purely human digestive systems." She glances over at Spock. "Or, I should say, digestive systems of those lifeforms who have no genetic relation to the Harrihani."

A hungry silence falls as everyone eats. Jim is pretty impressed – the food is pretty good, and he keeps shoveling rice, beans, and yucca into his mouth even as Alonso strikes up a conversation with Yareida about the cultural heritage of Martíans. Jim tunes it out after a while, but his attention is caught again when Sulu speaks up.

"What's the name of the Valley? You just keep calling it that, 'the Valley' – does it even have a name?"

Yareida nods slowly. "It has several. The Harrihani called it Ukul ne Ishiche, the land that the gods have turned their backs on. When the humans arrived, it received another name – la Bahía de Penas."

"The Bay of Shame?" says Alonso, frowning.

"Shame," Yareida agrees. "Pain. Difficulty, pity, sadness, punishment. It's a wonderfully versatile word."

"Why 'bay'?" asks Alonso.

"Most likely someone mishearing 'valle,' aided by our...unique accent," admits Yareida wryly. "And it really is a quite poetic phrase."

"Why do you work in it?" asks Alonso. "If you're a historian?"

"There's some evidence that the Harrihani inhabited the caves beneath the valley, and in the mogotes," says Yareida. "There's quite a wonderful example of a Harrihani temple right by the edge of the valley, barely half an hour's walk in. I wrote four papers based on that alone."

"I am unfamiliar with the Harrihani religion," says Spock invitingly, looking actually interested, and Yareida's eyes light with enthusiasm.

"We believe the Harrihani did not have gods, so much as historical figures that became patrons of certain attributes. Although it isn't quite that simple – mythological allegories and histories of what are likely the true lives of the figures exist side by side, mentioning the exact year of birth of certain beings in the same breath as claiming they were present at the creation of the universe." She smiles faintly. "For the Harrihani, apotheosis was as common as hurricanes. Each deity was linked to a certain trait – for example, one of them, named Jalien, was the patron of modesty and self-control, and was linked with teeth, to better bite one's tongue. Serserra was linked with curiosity and eyesight, to better see the horizon, and strong legs to bring it closer. That's in the creation myth, of course – how the first Harrihani was created, by a council of these figures, despite the fact that they have all been documented to have historically existed. Jalien, for example, was a martyr, who refused to recant his political beliefs and was burned at the stake."

"Sounds like politics," mutters Jim, but very quietly, so only Sulu can hear him. 

Dessert is a sweet, milky cake, almost custardlike in consistency, served with yet more coffee. Jim can't help but notice with no small amount of concern that it's beginning to grow on him; he barely notices the taste as he sips it.

Eventually Yareida stands up, folding her napkin neatly. It may be Jim's imagination, but she looks a bit pale as she places it on top of her plate. Then she turns to him. "Captain, I would like to show you something, if I may."

Jim frowns, but stands up, too. Yareida leads him out to the porch, and sits down in one of the rocking chairs there. Jim sits next to her, and waits.

At first he doesn't know what the hell she's doing, but it gradually comes to him as his ears adjust to being in the evening quiet. The sun's set, and there's the buzzing of cicadas – or whatever New Antilles's equivalent is – but beneath it there's another sound, a deep and rumbling bass like the rushing of water underground, or the sound of something large and distant moving closer.

He turns his head, to try to isolate where it's coming from, and eventually finds himself looking out into the distance, where he can see the blunted, looming masses of the mogotes illuminated by the faint starlight and dancing aurora.

"Is that...?" he mutters to himself. Now that he's aware of the sound, he can't _un_ -hear it, and it almost seems to grow louder, like the roaring of wind in his ears.

"Yes," says Yareida, and Jim looks at her. "You were asking if that sound was the Valley?"

Jim looks back at the Valley, then back at Yareida. "It's always that loud?"

"It gets louder towards midnight, then begins to fade," she says. "Nobody knows why. But it's quiet tonight."

"It sounds like screaming." Jim twists in his chair to see that the rest of his away team has joined them on the porch, standing behind him. Nurse Chapel clears her throat, and adds, "Doesn't it?"

"There's never been a precise acoustic analysis done," Yareida concedes. "And it seems unlikely that one will ever occur. If the sound is this loud here, how loud must it be in the Valley itself? And do you truly believe that any researcher, even ignoring the myths and the empirical facts about the dangers of the Valley, would be willing to stay there overnight to discover the true cause of the sound?"

"You've got a point," mutters Sulu, staring at the Valley in the distance and looking uncomfortable.

"I wanted you all to know what it is we will face tomorrow," says Yareida, standing up. "Should you change your minds about the...expedition, there will be no harm done. It is not yet too late to change your mind."

Jim glances at the rest of the away team. Sulu and Alonso are watching him uncertainly, whereas Chapel is looking determinedly at the ground. Spock is staring at the Valley, his brow creased in an almost invisible frown, although when he notices Jim's attention he meets his gaze with a raised eyebrow.

Which, quite frankly, kind of pisses Jim off.

"I'm going," he says quietly. "Nobody else has to come – it's still volunteer-only."

There's a long silence.

"Then I suppose," says Spock finally, "we will reconvene in the morning."

 

They leave before dawn. Spock is the only one of the away team who actually wears his Starfleet uniform; everyone else has opted for civilian clothes, short-sleeved or sleeveless shirts to deal with the heat. Sulu and Chapel are both wearing shorts, and look much more comfortable for it; Alonso is wearing pants cropped to just below the knee, and Jim, having heard the "bizarre reactions to alien plants can kill you" speech from Bones about twenty times more than any of them, is wearing lightweight pants on the offchance that any of the flora in the Valley could induce a reaction – and even then, he has the two hypos of epinephrine that Bones has made mandatory for him on any away mission. Yareida has her hair tucked back behind a scarf again, and she's wearing similar short-cropped pants as Alonso; in the pre-dawn glow, she looks paler than she did yesterday, almost ashy, and the intricate patterns on her face and hands almost seem to absorb the light rather than reflect it as they usually do. She also looks determined as hell, though, so Jim doesn't say anything.

Nobody is particularly enthusiastic at breakfast, which is buttered toast, ham, and eggs, along with yet more fruit and the same strangely thick juice from the previous night. The meal is also pretty much silent, except for the occasional request for something to be passed, and when it becomes abundantly clear that nobody really has an appetite, Yareida begins putting together sandwiches out of the toast, ham, and eggs and wrapping them in napkins to take with them.

The sun still has yet to come out when they leave the research station. They take a van down a dirt road towards the Valley, but it stops about half a mile from the wall of mogotes in a cul-de-sac, and Yareida pulls the van over and stops.

"This is the drop-off point for cavers and researchers," she says, opening her door. "The road doesn't go any further – this is where the hiking begins."

Jim looks at the mogotes from close-up. They're surprisingly green, covered in foliage, ferns, and palms, with the occasional sheer cliffside mixed in for good measure. The overall effect is one of roundness, although the shapes they themselves make aren't circles – they could almost be a range of mountains, but for the steepness of the sides and the bluntness of the tops.

The rock, where it's exposed, has oxidized in places to a rusty brown that reminds Jim of dried blood. He tries not to think about that.

"There's a pass over here," says Yareida, pulling on her pack.

"Hang on," says Chapel, digging through her own bag. She pulls out her tricorder and begins scanning, but eventually shakes her head. "There are no lifesigns," she says, "but they could be blocked by the mountains."

"Mogotes," corrects Alonso absently, adjusting the straps on her backpack.

"Mogotes," Chapel repeats, sounding faintly annoyed. "Whatever."

"I also know her main research sites," adds Yareida. "The ones closest to the outside, at least. We can check those first. I would...very much prefer not to spend the night in the Valley."

There's another long silence, and eventually Jim glances over at Yareida. Her eyes are closed and she's breathing deeply, apparently preparing herself for the journey.

"You okay?" he asks without thinking, and Yareida jumps.

"I am perfectly well," she says, her too-fast breath proving her a liar. "Please understand, for us, this Valley is a land of nightmares and – and boogeymen. While you may be capable of casually walking in, I am not, and even Doctor Acherra required preparation before entering. To us, the Valley feels..."

"Wrong," suggests Spock, and everyone turns to him in surprise. He raises an eyebrow until Yareida gets their attention again.

"Precisely." She takes another deep breath. "We should begin soon – the sun will rise shortly."

They start walking.

It's not long before Yareida is taking them through the pass she mentioned, and the reddened cliffs of the mogotes loom menacingly on either side of them. The path twists before them, so they don't get a clear view of the Valley until they're through it – but when they do, it's breathtaking.

For a place so damn dangerous, it's surprisingly green, even in the dim, pre-dawn light. Animal tracks and patches of red dirt and clay contrast vibrantly against the unbelievably bright grass, and although it's more or less flat except near the mogotes, Jim feels like he can see every hill, every area that's even a bit elevated. There are small groves of trees, large palms obscuring behind them and shorter, smaller brush and vines that just cover the ground. The mogotes rise sharply behind the vista, in the middle distance. Everything's slightly below them, and Jim can't help but think, _the Valley swallowed them whole..._

"It's pretty," he says.

"It looks like Viñales," says Alonso.

"I've got a life sign," says Chapel.

 _That_ gets everyone's attention, although she ignores their sudden looks and continues fiddling with the tricorder. Eventually she points. "Over there. I can't get any more specific than that until we're closer."

"One of Acherra's sites is in that direction," says Yareida thoughtfully. Her expression is considerably less pinched than it was even five minutes ago, and Jim wonders if it's because they've gotten some good news. "Perhaps..."

"All right, then," says Jim, rubbing his hands together. "Let's go. Nurse Chapel, keep the tricorder out – we can keep refining our course as we go."

They start walking again, descending into the valley itself. There's a small animal track that they follow, cutting diagonally across and down the steeper areas. The going is slow, to say the least, and soon the sun is up and over the mogotes; they're shaded for now, but as soon as they get out further into the flat expanse they'll be exposed to the sunlight.

Jim walks a bit faster to catch up to where Chapel and Yareida are leading the group.

"How much would you say the temperature's risen since we got here?" he asks, breathing a bit heavily.

"Five degrees, perhaps," says Yareida.

"I'd say more like ten," says Chapel.

"I meant Celsius," says Yareida, and Chapel nods.

"Then I guess that's about right. Is it going to stay this hot?"

Yareida looks at her skeptically. "The temperature will continue to rise until about an hour after noon – and stay that hot for another two hours, until it will begin to cool off again. Although if Acherra is indeed in her camp, it's possible we will avoid the hottest hours of the day altogether."

"You just jinxed it," mutters Jim.

The terrain is at least not too bad to hike on. While there aren't too many clear paths, and none in the direction that they're headed in, the vegetation in this part of the valley is relatively short and easy to walk through. Even though it's getting warmer and the sun is beginning to beat on their backs, it's almost pleasant – especially after four solid months cooped up on the Enterprise. A wonderful ship she may be, but there's something about actual fresh air that's inimitable.

After about two hours, they stop for a break. Sulu's breathing hard and using one of his spare shirts to wipe sweat from his face – Alonso and Yareida both seemingly came prepared, and have their own small cloths for just this purpose. Yareida also has a hand-fan, and after fanning herself for a few minutes hands it to Alonso, and it promptly makes the rounds – it's amazing how much any movement of the air at all improves the heat. Spock, on the other hand, looks perfectly fresh and typically emotionless, the bastard.

Jim sips his water, surveying both the territory and his team. Despite the heat – and the sun, and the exertion – he's feeling almost more relaxed than he has – well, pretty much in the past two months, after it became clear that the assignments of border patrol after border patrol were neither accidental nor likely to come to an end any time soon. Alonso looks similarly refreshed, even though the sweat makes her face almost seem to shine; she's taking advantage of the break in the hiking to take some data, apparently. Nurse Chapel is frowning at her tricorder, and hitting it occasionally with the heel of her hand.

"Everything okay?" Jim asks her, and she looks up at him.

"Fine, sir," she says, whacking it again. "It's just – the display keeps cutting out. Ensign Sakers dropped it a few days ago, and I guess it's just now malfunctioning – it's fine."

Jim frowns, but takes the explanation. Sulu seems to be suffering most from the heat, drinking his water thirstily. Spock is staring out at the Valley, and Jim notices that one of his thumbs is tapping against his thigh, almost nervously.

"Spock?" says Jim. "Everything okay?"

"There appear to be no birds," says Spock. "Nor animals of any kind. The quiet is...disconcerting."

Jim looks around, and realizes that Spock's right. He can't remember seeing a single bird, or rat, or even lizard since they entered the Valley, and with the air as still as it is, there isn't even the rustling of the grass as white noise when they aren't moving.

Much like the rumbling the previous night, once Jim hears the silence, he can't make himself stop hearing it, and the hairs on the back of his neck prickle.

"I guess we just woke up earlier than everything else," he says uncertainly, before looking at Yareida. "We should keep going."

She nods, tensely, and Sulu stands back up.

It's harder to start hiking again than it was to just continue, and Jim thinks he can feel his skin baking. He can definitely feel his shirt sticking to the small of his back and his shoulders, and he tries not to think about the smell. The terrain is getting rougher – the ground itself less even, with more small hills and tall, tangled weeds. The tradeoff is that there are more paths, narrow and hard-packed red clay, although now that Jim's noticed the lack of fauna he can't help but wonder what made them in the first place. 

After another hour and a half or so, Jim sees movement on one side and glances over to see that Spock's hiking next to him, no expression on his face other than concentration on the uneven ground.

"Spock," Jim says. "Having fun?"

"I have been attempting to determine why we are out here," says Spock.

"Do you mean _here_ here, or more philosophically? Because I don't think I have an answer to the latter."

"I find it difficult to believe that even you would be bring us into such hostile territory simply to alleviate your – cabin fever. Although I admit that I am beginning to doubt this conclusion."

"Okay, so _here_ here," says Jim, stepping carefully over a rock. "And to answer your question, we're out here because unlike us going back to Starfleet and saying, 'hey, sorry we lost your cure, but there was this creepy valley,' we might actually do some good out here. Chapel's got lifesigns – that means Acherra might still be alive, and if she is, then we even saved someone. I'd say that's pretty worthwhile, wouldn't you?"

"And that's your full rationale?" says Spock, raising that goddamned eyebrow again. "Are you certain this has nothing to do with a possible hope that successfully carrying out a mission such as this would make Starfleet Command less likely to assign the Enterprise the less sought-after missions?"

"Is it really that hard to wrap your mind around the concept of me wanting to do something just because it's the right thing to do?" asks Jim irritably, wiping sweat from his forehead. He can feel it pooling on the back of his neck, across the width of his shoulders, literally dripping down the small of his back – it's beginning to irritate him kind of a lot.

"When such a more likely alternative presents itself? Yes."

Jim shoots him a look, but they're interrupted by Yareida.

"There!" She points, and Jim squints – there's the indistinct figure of what could be a tent, atop a nearby low hill. "Is that where the life sign is coming from?"

Chapel nods. Yareida picks up her pace, and Jim picks up his own to match her, letting Spock fall behind. 

They're at the campsite within ten minutes at Yareida's steady clip. It's up on a small rise from where they are, without any incline between the two levels, just an almost-sheer slope of red clay. There's an indentation running up it diagonally, and Yareida climbs up first, Jim following after – the clay sticks to his shoes, and turns the hem of his pants red. 

The tent is set up but listing to one side, by the remains of a fire pit that clearly hasn't been used in days – even the ashes have been blown away by the breeze. There's a pot with the lid unevenly sitting on top next to the pit, and a notebook lays abandoned in the dirt. There are a few trees in this particular area of the valley, and although they're not particularly tall, they provide a certain amount of shade.

"Doctor Acherra?" calls Yareida uncertainly from the edge of the camp. "Jordanca?"

There's no reply, and Jim feels a distinct sense of foreboding come over him.

"She might be in the tent," says Yareida, going to investigate. Jim follows, and is only a few steps behind Yareida when she opens the flap and stops. "Jordanca?"

The tent opening is narrow enough that Jim can't see around Yareida. "Is she in there?" asks Jim, resisting the temptation to crane his neck and see.

"I don't - " begins Yareida, before entering the tent altogether. Jim holds the flap back, and sees a figure wrapped in blankets, utterly still on the ground. Yareida approaches her hesitantly, one hand held out. "Jordanca?" she repeats, softer. Her hand touches Acherra's shoulder and almost immediately shies away – when nothing happens, she tries again, this time shaking Acherra slightly. "Jordanca?"

Acherra lets out a small noise, somewhere between a whimper and a moan, and both Yareida and Jim jump. Then Yareida lets out a breath, holding one hand to her chest. "She's alive," she says, before kneeling by Acherra. "Jordanca, can you hear me?"

Jim kneels next to them, and watches Acherra's eyes open. "Lourdes?" she says muzzily. "Que – quien - ?"

"Se llama Jim Kirk," Yareida says quickly. "Es el capitan de la Enterprise, el nave que Starfleet nos envió. He speaks English," she adds. "He brought a team, and we came to find you."

"Había un escorpión," says Acherra, licking her dry lips. "Me picó."

Yareida turns to Jim to translate, but he beats her to it. "A scorpion stung her?" he asks, and Yareida nods.

"Cuanto tiempo...?" asks Acherra.

"Four days now since you left," says Yareida. "We thought for certain - "

"I would have, too," says Acherra, shuddering and clutching her blanket more tightly around her. "I would be dead soon anyway. The water is gone."

Jim pulls out his own bottle, and offers it to Yareida. She takes it, and helps Acherra sit up to sip some. "I'm going to go update the others and get Nurse Chapel in here," he says, and Yareida nods at him.

When Jim leaves the tent, he stops dead in his tracks for a moment when he sees the sky above the valley – although he could have sworn it was completely clear when they had stopped for their break, there's now a definite line of clouds moving rapidly across the sky, right towards them.

"Captain!" Jim jerks his attention back down from the sky, and sees Chapel laboriously climbing the last small incline before the campsite. "Is she all right?"

Jim nods. "Go ahead – she's in the tent, and in need of medical attention. She got stung by a scorpion, apparently."

Chapel nods, and hurries past him.

Sulu, Alonso, and Spock come at a more reasonable pace behind her.

"Acherra's alive," Jim tells them when they arrive. "Chapel's looking her over – she got stung by a scorpion, but she's made it this long." He glances at the clouds again, then looks at Sulu. "Sulu, help me get the stretcher set up, just in case – there's no way she can walk, and we may be trying to get out of here pretty quick."

Sulu also looks back at the clouds, then nods to Jim and starts getting the parts for the collapsible stretcher out of his pack. Alonso kneels off to one side of them, brushing around the dirt and crumbling it between her fingers, like a puzzle that refuses to be solved.

By the time Sulu and Jim have the stretcher set up, the clouds are even closer – the contrast between the sunlit greenery closer to them and the dark, ominous sky beyond it isn't particularly reassuring, especially since Jim can actually see where the gray falls all the way to the ground, where it's already raining. The first rumble of thunder comes soon after, and when Jim turns to Spock he sees that he already has the tent out and ready to be put up.

"I believe it may be prudent to attempt to wait out the storm, given the circumstances," says Spock, although the downward twist to his mouth suggests that he's not particularly happy about it. 

"I think that's a good call," Jim agrees, tugging lightly at his shirt above his belly button – the effect is almost like a fan, creating some movement in the air around his stomach. "I'm going to check in with Chapel and Yareida, see how Acherra's doing."

Acherra is sitting up and eating, albeit slowly, when Jim enters the tent. Someone – probably Yareida – thought ahead and brought plain crackers, and Acherra is tiredly nibbling on one. Chapel is frowning at her tricorder again, and Yareida is still holding Jim's water bottle, sitting worriedly by Acherra's side.

"Hey," says Jim. "How's...everything?"

"I feel much better, now that I have eaten," says Acherra carefully – she has a thicker accent than Yareida, and Jim wonders how good her English really is, or whether she's just still exhausted.

"The scorpion sting made her vomit," says Yareida matter-of-factly. "It is probable that she will improve now – hunger made her weak, physically."

"The worst of it seems to be over," Chapel agrees distractedly, before whacking the tricorder again. "Of course, if I could get this damn tricorder working - "

"Is it malfunctioning again?"

"It keeps switching back to detecting lifesigns," says Chapel, "when what I need at this point is a medical readout – since I've got Yareida as a control for Martían - " She stops abruptly, and begins to go pale. She holds up the scanner itself, pointing it at Jim, then lowers it to point at Acherra and Yareida, then points it straight down at the ground, and her eyes go wide with – Jim can't tell if it's fear, or shock, or both.

"Nurse Chapel?" Jim prompts. "Christine?"

She looks up at him and hands him both parts of the tricorder. "Tell me I'm not losing my mind," she says. 

Jim frowns, but points the scanner outside – it reads three lifesigns, Sulu, Spock, and Alonso. He points it at Yareida, Acherra, and Chapel – three. Then he points it down, and the number immediately begins to go up – a digit appears in the tens place, then the hundreds, thousands - 

"Fuck!" Jim drops the scanner and tricorder both, and sticks the fingers of his right hand in his mouth – they still sting.

"Captain?" asks Chapel worriedly.

"Zapped me," says Jim, shaking out his hand. He turns the tricorder over with his toe, and points. "There's a crack in the casing – that must've done it. I guess Sakers broke it worse than we thought."

"It was working fine five minutes ago," Chapel points out uncertainly. "Or it was working not crazy, anyway."

Jim glances at Yareida and Acherra – both of them are staring at him with a look that can only be described as "we're all going to die and I told you so." He looks back at Chapel. "It's probably just faulty wiring," he says.

"Are you sure?"

"If you're asking me 'am I sure that the ground isn't filled with thousands of ghosts who want to finish their war by stealing our bodies,' then yes, I'm sure," says Jim forcefully. "But no, I'm not sure about the faulty wiring, because I'm not an engineer – for all I know, it's a problem with the polarity of the neutron flow." Chapel just looks at him blankly for a minute, and he adds, "Okay, I know neutrons don't have polarity, but you get my point." He turns to Yareida. "There's a rainstorm coming," he says, and, with perfect timing, there's a crack of thunder outside. Jim does _not_ jump, this time, although he may clench his fists a little bit. "Or a thunderstorm," he admits. "Can you take a look and see if you think we can make it back to the van before it gets here?"

"I can look," Yareida agrees dubiously, standing up and putting the water by Acherra's side. "But storms move quickly here – if we can hear the thunder - "

"Just – can you check, to make sure?" Jim rubs at one temple, trying to ignore the headache rapidly growing behind his eyes. "Please?"

Yareida leaves the tent, and Jim follows. It's not until he's outside in the sunlight with the flap hanging closed behind him that he finally looks over his shoulder to make sure there's nobody there. The quiet in the Valley doesn't feel empty anymore. There's some wind, although it still isn't making any noise other than soft, eerie whisperings, and the wall of cloud and rain has advanced considerably since he last checked. The effect is strangely claustrophobic, for a large, flat expanse of empty land. 

Yareida catches his eye, and shakes her head; Jim nods, unsurprised.

"Well, kids," he says loudly. "Looks like we're camping after all."

The Starfleet-issue tent takes only about ten minutes to put up completely, and when it's ready is about half again as big as Acherra's. After the last spike is in the ground, Jim sticks his head into Acherra's tent and motions for Chapel to come out, too, and they have a quick meeting. By now the sun is completely blocked out, and though it has yet to begin raining where they are, the soft noises of not-distant-enough rainfall and the constant rumblings of thunder are perfectly audible.

"Okay," says Jim, switching to his Captain-voice. "The current plan is to wait out the storm in the tents. Apparently they can get a little intense, especially if this is a hurricane, but both tents were built for this sort of thing, so we should be okay. Sulu, did you put up the lightning rod?"

Sulu nods, and points to one of the trees; the small copper rod sticks out from the top of it, and Jim's eyes follow the copper wire from the rod down to where it's grounded.

"Good," says Jim. "So we probably won't be struck by lightning. Yareida, what exactly can we expect?"

"Wind," says Yareida instantly. "Lightning, thunder. Rain, and a lot of it. If the tent is not completely sealed, water will get in. There is no way to know how long it will last, until we know for certain whether it is truly a hurricane or just a minor storm."

"I'm thinking as soon as it dies down, we get the hell out of here," says Jim. "I don't know about you guys, but I don't particularly want to spend the night out here."

"I believe it may be too late for that," murmurs Spock. Jim ignores him, pointedly.

"I'd like to stay with Acherra and monitor her progress – as much as I can without a tricorder, anyway," says Chapel.

"What happened to the tricorder?" asks Alonso.

"Technical difficulties," says Jim, and then, because he does feel at least a twinge of guilt saying something that at least feels like a lie, adds, "The lifesigns detector went all wonky."

"I am unfamiliar with that particular bit of technical terminology," says Spock.

"Wonky," says Jim viciously. "It's what happens when the doohickeys and whatchamacallits go kablooey and the whoozawhatsits and jiggery-pokery won't make them work again."

Spock's eye twitches in exasperation, and it takes all of Jim's willpower not to smile with a sadistic, juvenile thrill.

"The point being," says Chapel pointedly, "that we have no medical tricorder for the time being."

"I will also remain with Jordanca," says Yareida.

"I don't think we can fit more than three in that tent," says Chapel, and Jim glances darkly over at Spock just in time to see his eye twitch again. Then a spot of wetness lands on the tip of Jim's nose, and he looks up to see the dark, roiling clouds are directly above them, and it's beginning to rain.

"That leaves us," says Jim, and another drop lands on his shoulder. "Let's finish this discussion after the storm."

Yareida nods, and both she and Chapel hurry back to Acherra's tent. Alonso grabs her bag, and Sulu holds the flap open for her and Spock to enter the tent – Jim motions for him to go first, and he goes in last, zipping the flap shut. Inside the tent, Alonso's pulling some chemical light-sticks out of her bag, and she hands one to each of them before cracking her own to light it.

"How many of those did you bring?" asks Sulu.

"A lot," Alonso admits. "I thought we might end up going into the caves. Damn, I should've asked Christine if she and Yareida needed any..."

"Doctor Yareida took the electric lantern into their tent," says Spock.

"How's Acherra doing?" asks Sulu.

"Now that she's got some food and fresh water, Chapel and Yareida think she'll be okay," says Jim, making a mental note to ask about the damn plant they came all the way out here for in the first place as he pulls his pack off his shoulders. "So there's our good deed for the year."

"We should not have come."

Jim let his pack drop with more force than strictly necessary, before looking at Spock. "Yeah, did you not hear what I just said about doing a good deed?"

"It was illogical," and this time Spock looks Jim directly in the eye as he says it. Jim can see the faint simmering of anger there, burning behind Spock's calm and collected mask. "Doctor Acherra is one person. We are six, including Doctor Yareida and, I might add, nearly half of the senior staff of the Enterprise. The chances are slight that Acherra's cure will in fact _cure_ anyone, let alone a statistically significant percentage of infected species, and in recovering her we have engaged in excessively risky behaviors."

The rain is falling hard now against the cloth of the tent, crackling and popping like breaking bones. It's the only noise in the tent for a long moment as Jim continues to stare at him; he can see Sulu and Alonso trade distinctly awkward looks in his peripheral vision, but he's too pissed off to care.

"So you're saying that spending a day in a spooky valley wasn't worth saving a woman's life," says Jim flatly.

"Given that the valley you so casually call 'spooky' is in fact one of the most dangerous locations I have ever had the misfortune to visit, and the possible payoff of such an incredible risk is nearly nonexistent, yes, that is precisely what I am saying. The needs of the many - "

"Don't," says Jim forcefully. "Don't even – don't you dare say that. We saved Acherra's life – does that not even matter to you? Do you just not even care?"

"It was not worth the risk," says Spock forcefully.

" _She_ ," retorts Jim. "She's a living, sentient being, not a – a piece of meat to be talked about like an object!"

"How ironic, that I must listen to you of all people lecture on the virtues of not objectifying women."

"Don't try to change the subject. You keep talking about people like they're currency, or equipment – all 'acceptable losses' or 'necessary risks.' Does it even register for you that they're actual living beings? Or does your bullshit Vulcan way not actually let you see that?"

"The Vulcan way is one that refuses to let fleeting emotional ties effect the reasoning of what is required for the greater good," says Spock, before tilting his head in that way that means he's about to be more of an asshole than usual. "If you are having difficulty understanding the concept of holding the well-being of others above that of yourself, I will gladly recommend some reading – beginning with the reports of the final mission of the USS Kelvin."

Sulu exhales a shocked breath, but Jim's the one who feels like he's been punched in the gut – he can feel the words on the tip of his tongue, _speaking of acceptable losses, doesn't the logical Vulcan way think that getting five out of six Vulcan elders off the planet is good enough, and screw the sixth human that didn't make it?_ , and he's halfway to saying it just to wipe off that same fucking smug look that was there at his disciplinary hearing and is back again - 

\- when suddenly there is no smug look anymore. Jim didn't even blink, but the heat's gone from Spock's eyes, and now he just looks confused and alarmed maybe even a little – ashamed? Whatever it is, it's strong enough that Spock doesn't even try to hide it for a long moment before he manages to get himself under control and his face once again goes carefully blank.

The silence that follows is heavy and oppressive. The rain continues to fall hard against the tent, and the thunder no longer rumbles but cracks without warning, almost simultaneously with the flashes of lightning. Jim is too aware of Sulu and Alonso's presence – at the moment, he still wants nothing more than to punch Spock in the face, possibly repeatedly, but punching the First Officer in the face isn't the example he particularly wants to set for the kids. At least, not these kids.

Alonso's the one to eventually break the tension. "Rains like this are what made the Valley in the first place," she says, staring at her thumbs in her lap. "The water picks up carbon dioxide in the atmosphere on its way down, making a weak acidic solution. It hits the limestone and begins to dissolve away at the faults – and a little bit of straight-up erosion, too. This, right now, is geological change in progress."

"Those mountains - " begins Sulu, before Alonso interrupts him.

"Mogotes."

" - mogotes, right, whatever, looked like they'd be fun to climb."

"Viñales, back on Earth, has lots of climbing. Spelunking, too."

"I've never heard of it," admits Sulu, leaning back on his hands. The general sense of tension seems to be easing, at least, and Jim's breathing is returning to normal at any rate.

"It's in Pinar del Rio – that's my province in Cuba," explains Alonso.

"Did it ever rain like this there?" asks Jim.

"Oh, yeah – we've got a hurricane season, August to November. It can last for days, with no power, no water, have to keep the doors and windows closed and sealed so it doesn't flood...in my family, we tend to play a lot of board games in the fall."

"Sounds like hell," mutters Sulu.

"Sounds like _here_ ," mutters Jim. He glances up, and can practically see the words _so why are we here_ forming on Spock's tongue, but with an obvious exertion of willpower, he stays quiet. Seeing Spock's display of self-control makes the need to goad him lessen within Jim, and he says, "We should all try to get some sleep. It was an early morning, and we need our strength for when we hike back out of here."

Alonso and Sulu both shift their way towards the back of the tent, while Jim moves himself closer to the flap, just in case. Spock doesn't move, neither towards the flap to stand guard nor towards the back to sleep.

"Not going to sleep?" asks Jim quietly, as Sulu tries to figure out the best way to use his pack as a pillow.

Spock looks at him for a long moment, consideringly, and then says, "No. I don't believe I could sleep if I attempted to. And in the interests of full disclosure, I found myself unable to sleep last night as well. While I do not – did not – believe it would effect my performance or judgement, I wonder now if it would be...wise to reconsider the possibility."

Jim raises his eyebrows. "Is that an apology?"

Spock's eyes narrow, just for an instant, before it's gone. "Yes," he says simply. "What I said was callous, and furthermore, cruel. I apologize."

"What, seriously?"

Spock raises an eyebrow. "Is it really that difficult to believe?"

"You admitting you're wrong? Kind of, yeah." Jim thinks for a moment. "So you had trouble sleeping?" Spock glances away in discomfort, but inclines his head in assent. "Why?"

Spock hesitates. "Despite what you may believe," he says slowly, "Vulcans do have instincts. We merely choose to trust logic and reason over them, but they are by no means nonexistent. And ever since we arrived here on this planet, my instincts have been to stay as far away from this valley as possible."

Jim stares at him. "You could've mentioned this earlier."

"To what end?" says Spock. "You were clearly determined to – to engage in this rescue attempt, and I don't believe I could have changed your mind. I could hardly allow you to come by yourself, nor could I return to the Enterprise without you, orders or no. Logically, the decision was already made."

"But instinctively..." prompts Jim, and Spock's expression darkens.

"Instinctively," he says, "this place is...wrong. I cannot explain it any other way."

"Vulcans are telepathic, right?" says Jim. "Could you be picking up on Yareida's fear?"

Spock shakes his head. "Vulcans are touch-telepaths," he says. "Without direct contact, it would take a very strong telepathic race to project their thoughts and feelings – there is no way such a telepath would be unaware of their own abilities, and as such abilities would be extremely useful in, say, attempting to locate a lost colleague, I find it unlikely that Doctor Yareida would let it pass unmentioned."

"I guess you've got a point," says Jim. Thunder crackles, disturbingly close by, and other than the constant beat of the rain and the whistling of the wind, a quiet settles over the tent.

They have their leftover egg-and-ham sandwiches for lunch, still huddled together. The hours pass slowly and silently, and nobody says much at all. Alonso, at least, thought ahead and brought a PADD, and they take turns playing solitaire or reading the geological journals that she has downloaded onto it. Really, if it weren't for the constant rainfall, the flashes of lightning and rushes of thunder, the tiny enclosed space, and the noisy rippling of the tent in the wind, it would almost be a little relaxing.

By Jim's chrono, it's about five hours after noon when the thunder's finally subsided, and although the rain is still falling, it certainly isn't the deluge it had sounded like earlier.

It's his turn with the PADD, so he turns it off and hands it to Alonso. "You guys ready to get out of here?"

" _Yes_ ," says Sulu instantly, stretching as much as he can. Jim is the first one out, and he stretches, too – the long hours hunched over didn't do much for his back, or his mood.

"Chapel," he calls in the direction of Acherra's tent. "Yareida, you guys there?"

After a moment, the tent flap opens, and Chapel's head sticks out. "Are we going?"

"Yeah," says Jim. "Do we need the stretcher for Acherra?"

"I think she'll be okay – but let me see how she feels." Chapel disappears, and then a moment later reappears. "She says she's good to walk."

"Awesome." Jim turns back to the Starfleet-issue tent, to help take it down, but Spock, Alonso, and Sulu have already taken over that particular job, so he helps Acherra out of her tent instead – she seems a lot better, although still unsteady on her feet.

"You sure you're going to be okay, Doctor?" he asks, frowning.

"I want to get out of this valley," says Acherra, "as quickly as possible. If I must crawl, then I will do it."

"I can understand that," says Jim, looking around. Rain is still falling, though unevenly, and the temperature's dropped to the point of actually being cool. The wind occasionally blows water into his face, and he can already tell that he'll be soaked within an hour even in this weather – he understands a bit better now why Yareida had told them that ponchos or umbrellas would be useless. "Do you have your field notebook with you?"

Acherra nods. "And the samples - I was preparing to strike the campsite when I was stung."

"Good," says Jim. "Then as soon as we're out, we're done."

It takes about ten minutes to break camp, and then they're hiking again. It's hard to reconcile the hot, dusty walk of just a few hours ago with the sodden, muddy one of now in Jim's mind; the red clay, it seems, turns into a disgustingly clingy mud when wet, and within half an hour of hiking his pants are entirely coated in it below the knee. His shoes and socks are soaked and caked with it, too, and he's quite frankly tempted to take them off entirely and go barefoot, except that Bones would kill him if he heard.

The going is much slower this time, too – Acherra may be recovering, but she's still easily winded and off-balance. Each slope, no matter how gradual, requires more care than before, and Jim can feel his impatience grow each time they have to stop so she can lean on Yareida to make it down a hill.

It's obvious that Jim isn't the only one – Spock in particular keeps hiking ahead and doubling back when the group as a whole fails to match his pace, and he's even more reserved than usual. Alonso also takes several alternate routes, walking over to grab quick soil samples from the mogotes or any formations she finds particularly interesting before rejoining them.

They're about an hour out of camp when they take their first break, although Jim notices with a twinge of annoyance that it would only have taken them twenty minutes to get here if Acherra hadn't been slowing them down. Yareida helps Acherra sit on a small rock and drink some water, and Chapel stays by them to monitor Acherra's progress. Spock is standing by them, looking at the opposite end of the Valley and frowning, and Alonso takes the opportunity to pull out her own tricorder to take some measurements.

Jim keeps going a bit more, because he isn't feeling particularly tired – on the contrary, with his soaked clothes and the now-constant wind, he even feels cold, and the movement helps keep him at least a little warm. He's about twenty yards away from the group when he hears something strange, a rumbling coming from – beneath him? 

And then he's falling.

He barely has time to think _oh, fuck_ before he hits the water.

That's when Jim learns that Starfleet Required Phys Ed 201: What To Do When You're Drowning In An Alien Body of Water is _completely fucking useless_ , or at least forgot to take into account that sometimes these bodies of water are actually moving. He can't get himself back to the surface, and after a few rolls in the water can't even tell which way is up anymore – he tries to open his eyes but the water stings them. He can feel himself trying to breathe reflexively and tries not to, but then there's water in his mouth and his nose and his lungs and somehow reality itself is going dim at the edges and then there's nothing at all.

 

And then there's noises, screaming and the scraping of metal against metal, like nails on a chalkboard. He can feel it all around him, closing in like a blanket about to smother him, the lights of his brothers-in-arms's lives extinguished and the rushing, the howling of death coming for him, too - 

 

Jim wakes up vomiting, which, while not exactly unfamiliar to him, still isn't the best way to wake up. He pitches forward and retches, but there's an arm across his chest and a presence at his back that keeps him from tipping over too far.

When there's nothing left in his stomach, he just keeps coughing anyway – he can feel liquid rattling around in his lungs and his throat stings fiercely, but the presence at his back just keeps him steady until he feels like he can almost breathe again.

"What - ?" He looks around – the first thing he sees is a lightstick, illuminated on the ground, then Yareida and Acherra, both watching him anxiously. Alonso is past them, and Jim catches a glimpse of a sliver of flesh as she pulls on a dry shirt – her shirt and short-cropped pants are piled next to her, soaked entirely through. Spock is kneeling right next to him, and Jim can't interpret the expression on his face as a well-controlled concern or just the usual aloof Vulcan-ness. Sulu is also stripping on Spock's other side, and at first Jim can't figure out where Chapel is until a warm hand rubs his shoulder comfortingly.

"If you feel the need to throw up again, do it," she says from behind him. "You were half-drowned by the time Sulu and Alonso got to you, and there's no way to know what the hell's in that water. Now come on, let's get you out of those wet clothes before you freeze to death."

Jim can't find the energy to tell her that he's fine, and when he tries to grab the hem of his shirt to pull it off he discovers that his fingers are numb. Combined with the sluggishness of his thoughts, he decides to just swallow his pride and let Chapel and Spock take off his clothes.

He does feel a lot better once he's dry, and by the time he's clothed again he can even hold the blanket around him himself, instead of just watching it fall through his numb fingers.

"Thanks," he tells her hoarsely, looking around. They're in a cave, next to an underground river – a really fast-moving river, now that he's looking – although he can see a patch of less-darkness up ahead. "What the hell happened?"

"The ceiling of this cave collapsed," says Alonso, coming a bit closer. "You landed in the river, but the rest of us landed on the bank here – but you didn't resurface, so Sulu and I swam after you." She gives him an odd look. "Sir...do you know how to swim?"

"I passed the Academy P.E. requirement, if that's what you're asking," says Jim. "Except it wasn't a whole lot of help, I have to say. But no, we didn't get a whole lot of chances to practice our backstroke in Kansas. Everyone else okay?"

"There were no other major injuries," says Spock, and Jim frowns at the phrasing.

"Any minor ones, then?"

"Bruises," says Chapel. "Lots of them. But we should be fine, assuming we make it out of here."

"Assuming...?" Jim looks up – the ceiling is a good twenty feet above them, and although there's a gaping hole in the ceiling, it doesn't extend all the way to the walls of the cave – there's no way they're getting out the way they got in. "Oh." He looks around some more – the cave continues down along the river until it fades into darkness. "That could be a way out," he says doubtfully.

"It could also be a dead end, or a dead drop," says Alonso. "Cave systems like this are...complicated. There can be hundreds or hundreds of thousands of caves, with no way to know - "

"I think that's enough negativity, thanks," says Jim.

"Or perhaps simply realism," says Spock.

"We're not dead yet," says Jim sharply.

Spock raises an eyebrow. "No," he agrees. "Not _yet_."

"Would it kill you to be an optimist, just for once?" says Jim.

"An interesting choice of words," says Spock, "as it appears the answer in this case would be yes."

Jim ignores him and turns to Acherra. "We want to be going more or less that way, right?"

Acherra looks wide-eyed and uncomfortable at being singled out, but nods. "The Valley is simply not that large," she says. "If we go far enough in any direction - "

"That works for me," says Jim. "Okay, everybody, listen up. I'm not giving up, and neither should you. I'd make it an order if I thought it'd work, but even so, anyone who dies on this mission is going to get court-martialed, is that clear?"

"Pursuant to what regulations?" asks Spock, one eyebrow raised.

"Pursuant to the regulations against breaking the Captain's perfect personnel record," retorts Jim. "If we don't make it to six months with as many crew members as we started out with, I'm going to be royally pissed."

"And no doubt Starfleet will be as well," adds Spock, "given that all of our missions so far have been empty-space patrols and courier missions."

"Yeah, you're really contributing the general attitude, Spock, thanks."

"We would not be in this situation at all if it weren't for you quixotic need to play the hero," says Spock, sounding dangerously close to snappish.

"Oh, really?" retorts Jim. "Now I'm trying to play the hero? That's funny, because a couple hours ago I was being reckless, and before that a bored adrenalin junkie. Are you planning to make up your mind, or do you want us to start brainstorming other reasons we could be out here that make _no sense_? Because I think 'hunting for the Easter Bunny' is a good one."

"It certainly has all the validity of your supposed altruism - "

"Will the both of you _shut up_?" shouts Sulu, and it takes both of them by surprise enough that they actually do. Sulu looks embarrassed almost immediately. "Captain – Commander - "

"At ease, Lieutenant," says Jim, rubbing at the back of his neck. It does nothing to help his headache. "You're right – this isn't helping." He stands up carefully – the world tilts a bit, but then straightens again. "We should get moving."

It only takes a few minutes for everyone to gather up their things, and a still-abashed Sulu hands Jim his pack, apparently rescued from the river. Acherra and Yareida take the lead again, followed by Sulu and Jim with Alonso and Spock on their six. Alonso hands out more light-sticks, so that everybody has one – apparently when she said she'd brought a lot, she hadn't been joking.

"Captain," says Sulu hesitantly, after about ten minutes of walking. Acherra and Yareida are well ahead of them, and Sulu and Alonso well behind.

"Yeah?"

"Is it - " Sulu goes quiet, then tries again. "There's something...weird about this place."

"Weird how?" asks Jim, watching him.

"It's..." Sulu shrugs helplessly. "It's getting to me, sir. And you and Commander Spock, too, it's obvious." He looks for a second like he's going to say more, and then instead waits for an answer.

"Something's getting to us," Jim agrees slowly, trying to think of a tactful way to deliver the "Mommy and Daddy fight sometimes, but it doesn't mean we don't love you" talk. "But I don't think it's necessarily that we're _here_. We've just been cooped up too long – first on the ship, then in the tent, and now we're here and that's not exactly good news. Besides, Spock and I - " Jim pauses to think for a moment. "Spock and I have different ideas about the Captain's role. We're still working them out, but that doesn't mean we don't respect each other – or, for that matter, that we don't like each other."

Sulu gives him a look. "Really?"

"What?" says Jim. "You don't have one of those friends that sometimes you just want to punch in the face?"

"None that I've actually tried to strangle to death," says Sulu.

"To be fair," says Jim, "I pushed him."

"Okay, then," says Sulu. "None that I've pushed into trying to strangle me to death. I don't - " He breaks off again.

"You've got permission to speak freely, Sulu," says Jim. "And now I'm curious, so spill."

"I saw the look on the Commander's face when he said...that...in the tent," says Sulu.

"I never said he wasn't an asshole," says Jim tightly.

"He didn't look like an asshole," says Sulu. "He looked like he wanted to draw blood."

Jim looks at him, surprised.

"I've seen it before," adds Sulu. "There was one guy in the fencing club at the Academy, who always lunged a little too hard, didn't quite pull his punches enough – so to speak. And he had that look sometimes, too."

There's a noise from in front of them, and both men look forward to see Acherra no longer leaning on Yareida, but staring her down, speaking too quickly for Jim to understand even the gist of what she's saying. Yareida has a similarly stubborn expression on her face, and she replies just as rapidly and with just as much tension. They've both stopped walking, and Acherra's hands are balling into fists by her sides.

"Doctor Acherra," says Jim loudly and pointedly, interrupting them. "We haven't really had a chance to chat yet – can I have a second?"

Both Acherra and Yareida stare at him for a long moment, then trade an uncomfortable and vaguely apologetic glance. Jim starts walking again, and Acherra joins him while Yareida hangs back to walk with Sulu.

"You are Captain Kirk, correct?" says Acherra.

"Captain James T. Kirk of the USS Enterprise, at your service," says Jim. "Assuming we survive this and I don't get court-martialed, anyway."

Acherra gives him a surprised sideways look. "Would your Federation truly court-martial you for this?"

"No," Jim allows. "Fire me, maybe. Of course, if we pull this off and the cure works, I'll probably get a commendation."

"That makes...very little sense," says Acherra.

"Not really," says Jim. "Besides, it's the same in science, isn't it? The really revolutionary theories are crackpot fantasies unless they're actually right, in which case they're brilliant."

"I suppose you have a point. Do you believe my cure is a – a crackpot fantasy?"

"I'm not a scientist," says Jim. "I'm going to let Nurse Chapel, Commander Spock, and probably also a lot of experts at Starfleet Command decide that. I just do the paperwork around here."

Acherra exhales a laugh at that. "Careful not to say that too much," she says. "You may begin to believe it."

It's Jim's turn to laugh. "Oh, I find that highly unlikely." He waits a moment, then asks, "Do _you_ think your cure is a crackpot fantasy?"

"I certainly hope it's not," says Acherra. "I've been investigating the curative properties of the endemic vegetation here for years – I would hope that I know what I'm doing by now. And the trials Fabian and I – that is, Doctor Gutien and I – have completed so far are hopeful, at the very least. And I believe that if we have the opportunity to help in the fight against Newcomb's Ague, we have an obligation to do exactly that."

"I can understand that," says Jim, giving Acherra another look. "Sorry – what did you say your first name was, again?"

"Jordanca," says Acherra. 

"Jordanca," Jim repeats, trying to match her pronunciation as best he can – rolling the 'y' sound of the 'j,' skipping lightly off the 'd,' settling on the 'n' before the solid consonant of the final syllable. "That's a very pretty name."

"Thank you," says Acherra. "My husband certainly agrees."

"That's...good," says Jim, feeling a little bit like an idiot. He clears his throat and changes the subject. "What were you and Doctor Yareida...disagreeing about, earlier?"

"Ah," says Acherra, her expression settling into displeasure. "Nothing." She catches Jim's look, and adds, "I mean that literally. There was no subject of our argument – no disagreement, no reason at all. It was pointless. Lourdes and I usually get along quite well – we have never...that has not happened to either of us before."

"I was afraid you'd say that," says Jim grimly. "Have you ever noticed anything like that when you've been here in the Valley before?"

"I usually come alone," says Acherra. "As does Lourdes. Thinking back, I suppose that I am more...tense while here, but I have always attributed that to the general atmosphere. Now I am not certain."

"You believe the stories?"

"I believe...that I very much do not want to spend another night," says Acherra, before checking the chrono strapped to her wrist and blanching. "Although it appears to be too late for that."

"What?" Jim looks over, and Acherra shows him the time – and he curses, stops walking, and turns around to face the rest of the group. "It's later than I thought," he says, once everybody's caught up. "We should make camp and get some rest, keep going tomorrow. If we're tired, we're worse than useless."

Nobody's reaction is particularly excited – Sulu closes his eyes, Alonso looks dubiously at the cave walls, Yareida looks understandably freaked out, Chapel looks resigned, and Spock just gives Jim his usual I-really-really-hate-you completely-neutral glare but pulls out the tent to begin setting up.

Jim takes off his own pack and begins looking through it – the emergency phaser is entirely waterlogged and useless, he notices, but luckily it looks like the waterproof seal on the emergency rations held - 

"Sir?" says Nurse Chapel, right behind him, but he manages not to jump. Visibly, anyway.

"Jesus – didn't anyone ever teach you not to sneak up on people?" Jim says, although he draws the line at putting a hand to his chest.

"Sir," Nurse Chapel repeats nervously, "I'm not a scientist, but – correct me if I'm wrong, but if we could hear the noise coming from the Valley from five kilometers away, shouldn't we be able to hear it from twenty feet underneath it?"

Jim has no answer for her – and from the conspicuous silence from everyone else, neither do they.

Eventually he clears his throat. "There's probably an award-winning paper on geological acoustics in there," he says. "Given the circumstances, I'm going to say don't worry about it."

"The circumstances being...?"

"The circumstances being that there are so many other things to worry about," says Jim darkly, before tossing her an emergency ration. "Like the fact that all we have to eat are these protein-packed boiled leathers that Starfleet Command likes to pretend are edible."

"Right, sir," says Chapel, looking uncertain.

Jim reaches into his pack to grab another ration, but pauses – out of the corner of his eye, he could've sworn...

He puts the ration back in the pack, zipping it shut. He shakes the phaser, just to make sure it isn't working – and it's not.

"Sulu, Spock, Alonso," says Jim, careful to speak normally to not alarm anyone. "Any of you bring weapons?"

All three are setting up the tent; something about the tone of Jim's voice makes them all drop it immediately. Sulu crosses quickly over to his pack, and begins rifling through it. Yareida and Acherra both stare at him from over their own tent.

"I am unarmed," says Spock. "I thought that this particular mission would not require weaponry."

"I'm not cleared to carry a phaser outside of the training room," says Alonso, eyes flickering around the cave. "Do we need weapons?"

"Be on your guard," says Jim, patting his pockets – his Swiss army knife is also gone, probably from his little dip in the river. "I thought I saw something moving."

Yareida and Acherra both relax. "The caves are uninhabited by humans," says Acherra, "but there is some endemic wildlife – batlike creatures and reptiles."

"Better safe than sorry," says Jim, before grabbing one of the extra tent spikes to hold, just in case. Spock and Sulu both go back to setting up the tent, while Alonso takes out her tricorder and begins examining the cave walls.

"Something's wrong here," she mutters to herself. "The stone looks...weird. Viñales doesn't look like - "

"This is not your Viñales," Yareida reminds her sharply. 

"I'm well aware of that," Alonso replies. "But they're so similar – something's just a little off, and I can't quite - "

That's when she's cut off by a large, ratlike creature jumping out of the darkness and attaching its teeth to her shoulder. She screams pretty much immediately, and Jim springs into action – but Sulu gets there first, and there's a flash of metal in the dim lightstick-light, then another, and by the time Jim gets to Alonso, the animal is lying on the cave ground, dead.

Jim looks at the rodent, then at Sulu, then at Sulu's sword. "You brought your sword?" he asks stupidly.

"I thought it might come in handy," says Sulu, shrugging. 

"Oh," says Jim, looking back at the rodent. "Good initiative. Very nice."

"Are you all right, Lieutenant?" asks Chapel, holding some gauze – Jim has no idea where it came from, but he's not going to protest – to her bleeding shoulder.

"If I get space-rabies," says Alonso, "I'm going to _kill_ someone."

"The bleeding's already slowing," says Chapel, frowning. "It's just a scratch, really."

"Scared me shitless," admits Alonso. "I wasn't expecting to find R.O.U.S.s here."

"R.O.U.S.s?" asks Yareida.

"Rodents of Unusual Size," says Jim. "Unofficial Starfleet exobiological classification."

"Sulu," says Chapel, "can you purify more water? I don't have enough, and we need to clean this out."

Sulu nods, and begins looking in his bag for the water purification tablets. Jim kneels next to Chapel and Alonso.

"Where do you need me?" he asks Chapel quietly, but she shakes her head.

"It's not too bad," she says. "We just need to wash it and bandage it, and that's not exactly a two-person job."

Jim nods. "Lieutenant, you doing okay?"

Alonso nods, although her cheeks are streaked with tears. "I've had worse, sir," she says, her voice cracking. "It just – stings. Kind of a lot."

Sulu comes back from the river, holding an open water bottle and a water purification tablet; he drops it in, and it fizzes a little bit as he puts it down by Nurse Chapel. "Need anything else?" he asks, a bit breathlessly.

"Actually, yes – grab me my pack, it's got the emergency medical kit," says Chapel, pulling back the gauze and carefully pouring water over Alonso's shoulder. Sulu rushes off again, and Jim stands up, feeling a bit useless. Spock has returned to setting up the Starfleet tent, and Yareida is setting up Acherra's – Acherra herself is watching Nurse Chapel tend to Alonso's shoulder, the iridescent markings on her face looking darker than usual. 

Jim barely holds back a sigh, and wonders if this could be any more of a clusterfuck.

Sulu drags Chapel's pack over, and almost staggers back when he lets go of it, his breathing hard and rough.

"Sulu," says Jim, frowning. "You okay?"

Sulu shakes his head, hard, and half-falls to the cave ground, now outright panting. "Can't breathe," he manages, staring at his hands. One of them is covered in red, raised hives, concentrated on his palm and spreading in painful-looking welts up his arm.

"Chapel!" says Jim urgently, lunging for his own pack. "Is he allergic - ?"

"What the hell do you think?" Chapel demands back. Jim hunts through the soggy clothes in his bag until he finds what he's looking for, and when he looks back up, Alonso's holding the gauze against her shoulder and Chapel's sitting next to Sulu, taking his pulse and looking worried. Spock, Yareida, and Acherra have abandoned their own pursuits, Yareida and Acherra coming in closer to see if they can help and Spock simply watching, frowning concernedly.

Jim hurries back to Chapel, and hands her the hypospray. "Epinephrine," he says. "Will it help?"

"We'll see," says Chapel, jamming it into Sulu's leg. 

There are a few anxious minutes of waiting, Jim staying ready with the second hypospray, before Chapel checks Sulu's hives and airway.

"It's working," she says, sitting back and brushing loose strands of hair out of her face.

"My heart's beating too fast," whispers Sulu. His hands are trembling noticeably.

"That's expected," says Chapel, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Epinephrine is a steroid – the next couple hours aren't going to be pleasant. I'm sorry." She moves her hand down to his, the one that's covered in fading hives. "Is this the hand you held the purification tablet with?"

Sulu nods. "Never used this kind before," he says hoarsely. He looks up and catches Jim's eye, trying for a smile. "Guess I won't be using it again."

Jim tries to return the smile, but he can't quite manage it over the sick feeling of guilt rising in his stomach. "Definitely not," he agrees.

"Captain," says Spock. Jim looks over at him – the tent is completed, and Spock is waiting expectantly beside it.

"Mister Spock," says Jim, standing back up and brushing off his pants – not that it's any help. "I think I know what you're going to say – let me give it a wild guess: this was a bad idea and we shouldn't have come in the first place, the benefits don't outweigh the risks, we're all going to die and it's all my fault. Did I forget anything?"

"Were it anyone else, I would find it incredible that you continue to not take this seriously," says Spock. "As it is, I must say that I am impressed that you seem to be setting records for new depths of recklessness."

"Oh, I'm taking this seriously," says Jim hotly. Everyone else is staring at them now, and the self-consciousness only makes Jim angrier. "I just don't think that standing around bitching about how much everything sucks is actually going to make the situation any better, so you know what? I don't want to hear it anymore."

"You cannot avoid the underlying issue forever," says Spock. 

"Yeah, what's that?" says Jim. "The fact that now that I outrank you, you can't maroon me on an ice planet every time you get annoyed?"

"No," says Spock, eyes glittering dangerously. "The fact that you are not equipped to be Captain of the Enterprise."

"Apparently Starfleet disagrees."

"And will they continue to do so after the occurrences of this mission?" demands Spock. "So far three of your own crewmembers have come close to death, including yourself, on a mission that was intended to be solely scientific, and this is assuming that we all survive, which is looking increasingly unlikely. To be completely frank, if we do manage to return, I would be very surprised if you were to remain Captain of the Enterprise – you have made it exceedingly clear that you are incapable of protecting your crew."

Jim goes still at this. He can't bring himself to look at Sulu, still shaking on the ground, or Alonso, still bleeding. He just stares at Spock, and knows deep down that he's right – he can almost feel the future, so certain in his mind just a day ago, crumble in front of him. _It's not supposed to be like this_ , he thinks, but it's less reassuring now.

"I'll worry about that when it happens," Jim makes himself say, not meeting anyone's eyes but Spock's. The anger helps to ground him. "For now, if we don't make it out of this godforsaken valley, it's a moot point. We should get some rest – we'll feel better in the morning." Maybe.

He looks over at Yareida and Acherra, who are both watching him with wide eyes. "Do you need help putting up your tent?" he asks.

"What?" says Yareida, looking around – their tent is only half-up. "Oh. Yes, thank you."

Jim helps them finish putting it up, letting the movements hide the fact that now his own hands are shaking; he uses his concentration as an excuse to keep his eyes directly in front of him. When the tent's fully set up, he steps back, and finally lets his eyes wander – Sulu's gone, already in the tent, and Chapel is finishing up bandaging Alonso's shoulder. Spock is kneeling by his own pack, looking for something, but he looks up and meets Jim's eyes for only a second, his eyes narrowing with as much confusion as frustration before he glances away again.

Yareida and Acherra both mutter polite goodnights as they retreat into their tent, and Jim goes over by Chapel and Alonso to sit down.

"How's Sulu doing?" he asks.

"Better – the side effects of the epinephrine are wearing off. He's trying to get some rest now," says Chapel, tucking in the free end of the bandage. "There you go, Viengsay."

"Thanks, Christine," says Alonso, carefully cupping her shoulder.

"And how are you doing, Lieutenant?" asks Jim.

Alonso shrugs with her uninjured shoulder. "Christine numbed it," she says. "It's not too deep, but it hurt."

"I'm more worried about infection," says Chapel. "The conditions here are hardly hygienic – I did everything I could, but..."

"You should both get some rest, too," says Jim, resettling himself next to the lightsticks. "I'm taking the first watch."

"And who's got the second watch?" asks Chapel, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

"Probably me, too," Jim admits. "I'm not sleepy."

"That is unnecessary," says Spock. "I am capable of taking a watch."

"You didn't sleep at all when we camped out during the hurricane," Jim points out.

"Neither did you."

"No, but I _did_ sleep the night before."

"I do not believe I will be able to sleep tonight, should I try."

"Then you're going to try anyway," says Jim, narrowing his eyes. "Starfleet may fire my ass when we get back, but that hasn't happened yet, meaning I'm still your Captain. Do I need to make it an order?"

Spock stares at him. "I do not understand you," he says finally.

"That's weird, I thought I was actually being pretty clear, there," says Jim.

"Now you're being deliberately obtuse," says Spock.

"Yeah, I'm not really in the mood to chitchat right now, but I'm sure there'll be plenty of time for that after my court-martial," says Jim, constructing a small pyramid out of lighsticks on the ground next to him. When he looks up again, Spock's gone, and the last few inches of the flap of the tent zip close.

"You're deliberately antagonizing him," says Chapel quietly, carefully putting away her medical equipment.

Jim ignores the pounding in his head, and says, "Don't know what you're talking about."

Chapel shakes her head. "I bet you were one of those kids who always poked at your bruises and picked at your scabs, too." She looks back up at him, and says, "You should try to get some rest, too."

"The mood I'm in?" Jim shakes his head. "Couldn't if I tried. Besides, right now the worst thing I could do is go into a small, confined space with Spock. I'd end up throwing a punch and then he'd beat the crap out of me."

"He's a Vulcan," protests Alonso. "He's got more self-control than that."

"Oh, I didn't say he'd lose control," says Jim. "And besides, when Vulcans lose it, they lose it but good – and I've got a particular talent for pushing Spock's buttons. Sometimes even deliberately." He looks at Alonso. "Go to sleep, Lieutenant. You look like you need it."

Alonso looks dubious, but carefully stands and makes her way to the Starfleet tent.

"You're not going to try to order me to sleep?" asks Chapel, raising an eyebrow.

"I gave up trying to order my ranking medical officers around about the same time as I was assigned the captaincy," says Jim. "Bones was having none of it."

"I'm not surprised," says Chapel, smiling. "That sounds like Doctor McCoy." She glances over at Jim. "You're going to have to sleep eventually."

Jim shakes his head. "I know."

"And I disagree with Commander Spock," adds Chapel. "No matter how dangerous this place is, you made it perfectly clear that this one was optional."

"How optional is it, though, when you have to make the decision with your captain standing right there?" Jim shakes his head. "I keep forgetting that everything I say is more...important, now. Besides, he's right – I wasn't taking the risks seriously. I kept thinking it would be a cakewalk – we've faced worse before." He goes quiet for a second. "But we haven't, really. I forgot that, too."

"Nero was worse," says Chapel quietly.

"Nero was...different. Nero was lots of running and fighting and shooting things. They're different kind of missions." Jim shrugs. "We'll get used to them, I guess. Or you all will."

"There's no way you're going to lose your captaincy over this," says Chapel.

"Maybe," Jim allows. "We'll know soon enough. Or we'll be dead. It doesn't matter now. You should go to sleep, too."

"Maybe I'm not tired either," says Chapel. "I spent most of this afternoon sleeping out the storm, after all."

"Tomorrow's going to be more of the same. You'll need your strength."

"So will you."

"I'm the Captain. That means I don't need things like sleep or food."

"Ha," says Chapel, but she stands up anyway and stretches. Then she hesitates. "I don't think he gets it."

Jim frowns. "What? Who?"

"Spock," says Chapel. "He hears you joking and he thinks it means you don't care. He doesn't get that it means that you do. It wouldn't kill you to have an actual conversation about what's going on in that head of yours with him – and it certainly wouldn't hurt."

"You know, I'm pretty sure there are some people who use 'it's like trying to have a conversation about feelings with a Vulcan' to mean the same thing as 'it's like talking to a wall,'" says Jim, and Chapel shrugs.

"Everything's worth trying once."

"And some things you can only ever try once," replies Jim patiently. "Because they're fatal."

"Now who's being the pessimist?" asks Chapel over her shoulder. "Goodnight, Captain."

"Night, Nurse Chapel."

Jim doesn't sleep at all that night. He mostly listens to the rushing of the water and watches the glow from the lightsticks fade, cracking new ones at about four-hundred hours and trying his best to not think.

Spock comes out of the tent at three-hundred hours, holding a Starfleet emergency ration. He hands it to Jim, sitting across from him. Jim takes it silently, and begins the considerable task of actually trying to eat it.

The next one to emerge is Chapel, about fifteen minutes later – there are circles under her eyes, and she doesn't look particularly well-rested.

"Sleep okay?" asks Jim, grabbing a ration out of his own pack and tossing it to her. She misses it, but picks it up again.

"No," she says shortly. "Pretty much not at all, actually."

"You are not alone in that," says Spock quietly, eying his own ration in distaste.

Nobody stays asleep much longer after that; Sulu looks absolutely wrecked, ashy and dead-eyed with exhaustion, whereas Alonso is sweaty and flushed. Chapel pulls her aside as the rest of them take down the tents to inspect the wound, but doesn't look particularly happy when they return.

"What's up?" asks Jim, frowning.

"It's getting infected," says Chapel. "I'm giving her antibiotics, but there's just so much dirt everywhere..."

Jim glances over at Alonso, now sitting by her bag with her tricorder, frowning at it and rubbing her forehead with the back of one wrist.

"We'll have to get out of here fast, then," he says.

"Right," says Chapel. "We're stuck in a cave in the middle of an inhospitable valley that's probably haunted, in a hurricane, and sinkholes could open up beneath us at any moment without warning, the caves could flood with the same caveats, and, oh yes, it seems to be populated with large, hungry, probably rabid _rodents_. What could - "

"Don't," says Jim immediately. "Don't say it. Don't even think it. Don't even – don't even _breathe_ it, just don't. You got half of it out, we may already be doomed."

Chapel looks away, but Spock just frowns. "Useless superstition," he mutters, but Jim's not paying any attention to him anymore – Lieutenant Alonso has caught his attention.

She's sifting through her pack, hurriedly, until she finds what she's looking for, a bottle of clear liquid, and runs back to one of the cave walls, where she squeezes out nearly half the bottle onto the wall before snapping the lid shut. Her hands are shaking.

"Lieutenant Alonso?" he asks. "What are you doing?"

"I'm getting very, very nervous, sir," Alonso says, wiping her forehead with the back of her wrist and staring at the cave wall.

"Why would that be, Lieutenant?"

"Because according to my readings," says Alonso, her voice wavering, "that's a deposit of pure sodium. According to my readings," she repeats, an ever-so-slightly hysterical edge to her voice, "there are deposits of pure sodium throughout the entire cave system – maybe the entire Valley."

Jim stares at her. "Sodium," he repeats, "which reacts with water?"

"Which reacts explosively with water," Spock says, looking around. It might be Jim's imagination, but he looks concerned at the very least, and may even be working his way up to outright worry. "This...could prove to be a problem."

"I've covered the exposed surface with baby oil," says Alonso, her voice strengthening, "which should keep that surface safe, but the limestone that makes these mogotes is soluble – meaning it's permeable to water."

"Right," says Jim, then clears his throat. "Maybe...we should head out. Fast."

It takes surprisingly little time to disassemble the tents, and the pace of the hike is considerably faster this time; Acherra looks more motivated than ever to leave the Valley, and while it seems to be taking all of Sulu's concentration to put one foot in front of the other, the feet are at least coming down quickly. Alonso is similarly quick, although she's leaning on Nurse Chapel and her eyes are still glazed with fever; every now and then she stumbles, but Chapel's got a good hold on her.

Jim and Spock end up leading the group, keeping the pace brisk. Much like the morning before, Spock's pace is considerably faster than the rest of the group's, although today they're hardly taking their time. The caves are getting twistier, too, although they were never particularly straight in the first place – it's barely an hour before Jim altogether gives up on trying to keep his orientation and just focuses on moving at all.

About an hour and a half after they've left their camp, Spock stops for a moment, waiting for Jim to catch up with him. 

"I did not believe it was possible," he comments, his nostrils flaring, "for this environment to become even more hostile towards life. Clearly I was mistaken."

"Pure sodium deposits," Jim agrees darkly. "God, I didn't even think those occurred in nature."

"In most places, they do not," says Spock. "However, I am also increasingly aware that probability appears to not apply to this particular valley when it comes to the likelihood of new and exotic ways to kill us."

"I'd just like to point out that you didn't call this valley having natural deposits of incredibly volatile and explosive materials, either," says Jim defensively.

"That was not an accusation," says Spock, his voice as flat and toneless. "It was merely a statement of fact."

"That's funny, because it really sounded like an accusation."

"Then perhaps you are being excessively sensitive and finding offense where there is none offered. I understand that humans in tense situations such as these may find their emotional equilibrium disturbed."

"Right," snorts Jim, "because you're just holding up perfectly over there."

A muscle in Spock's jaw jumps, but he just says, "I am increasingly convinced that we are going in the wrong direction."

"And do you have any constructive suggestions to make about that problem?" asks Jim.

"That was simply an observation."

"Very helpful, thanks."

Spock doesn't say anything else, and neither does Jim; they just keep hiking in a tense, uncomfortable silence.

They find the cavern about half an hour later. They hear the rushing of water first, a contrast to the more or less placid river they've been following, and then all of a sudden the dim illumination from the lightsticks doesn't reach the sides of the tunnel anymore. They're in a cavern, standing next to a waterfall – the ground abruptly ends in a steep slope just ahead of them, but on the other side Jim can see the dark maw of another tunnel.

"There is another tunnel here," says Spock, and Jim turns – below the ledge, the waterfall deposits into a pool with no visible outlet. "The water must escape somehow – most likely in the direction from which we came."

Jim frowns, and looks across at the other tunnel – he can't quite tell from here, but it looks like its floor is inclined upwards.

"Well, wherever we go, we have to go down first," says Jim, clipping the lightstick onto the collar of his shirt to keep his hands free for the climb down.

It turns out that there _is_ no climb down – there's a path, narrow but usable, and it's only a few minutes before the entire group is on the floor of the cavern.

"Is it possible that we are within a mogote?" asks Spock, looking around.

"What?" says Alonso, trying to focus on Spock. "Oh – yeah, I guess. There's a lot we don't know about this kind of landscape."

"Hmm," says Spock, consideringly.

"What are you thinking?" asks Jim quietly. Sulu is sitting on a nearby rock, his head hanging tiredly, and Alonso appears to be in no better shape. Yareida and Acherra are talking quietly near the ledge, and Chapel is watching both Sulu and Alonso worriedly.

"I am thinking," says Spock slowly, "that we have been going in the wrong direction. It is possible that we are within one of the mogotes, in which case there is no way to determine our elevation – it is possible, in fact, that the direction in which we need to go is down."

"You want to go down that one," says Jim, jerking his chin in the direction of the tunnel by the waterfall.

"Indeed," says Spock.

"I don't know," says Jim dubiously. "Like Acherra said – the Valley's only so big. As long as we keep going in one direction - "

"We cannot be certain that we have been going in only one direction," interrupts Spock. "It is entirely possible that the curvature has been so slight as to be unnoticeable – that is, when it has not been immediately obvious."

"Is that your only reasoning?" asks Jim skeptically.

Spock raises an eyebrow at him. "No," he says. "I believe in this case it may be wise to...to follow my instincts."

Jim stares at him for a long moment before he can bring himself to speak. "Are you serious?" he demands. "What, so you only go for logic when logic's telling you what you want to hear?"

"If I had followed my instincts in the first place," Spock points out, "I would not be here." His lips thin a bit, and when he speaks, the sarcasm is almost palpable in his voice. "And to think of all the fun I would have missed."

"I thought Vulcans had a firm anti-fun stance," says Jim, feeling his face flush with anger. "And you know, that sounded a whole hell of a lot like an accusation."

"Good," says Spock. "In this case, it was intentional."

"Are you starting this again?" says Sulu, his voice almost a croak. "Really?"

"I don't know, Spock," says Jim pointedly. "Are we starting this again?"

"Your talent for placing blame anywhere but on yourself is breathtaking," replies Spock. "One would hope that as Captain of the Enterprise you would have learned to take responsibility for your actions."

"As Captain of the Enterprise," Jim bites out, "I think that this is taking 'one step forward and two steps back' to new heights."

"And I feel no need to die because of your inability to admit when you're wrong," says Spock, with surprising intensity. "If you are determined to lead your crew into certain doom - "

"Oh, come on, it's uncertain doom at worst and you know it."

"Do you really believe this is a time for jokes and levity?" asks Spock incredulously. "Have the dangers of our situation even made it through to you at all, or does it simply not matter to you how many people die because you were unable to maintain your patience for four months?"

Jim's expression goes hard. "Whether you believe it or not, the safety of the crew is my top priority. Which is why I'm not going to let you try to take us backwards - _again_ -"

"If the safety of the crew were truly your priority then we would not be here in the first place. You would have heeded the warnings, weighed the risks, and ultimately decided that the logical decision was to _not_ attempt to recover Doctor Acherra from the unspeakably dangerous and hostile territory."

"You do realize that the woman you're standing here telling me I shouldn't have tried to save is standing right over there, don't you?"

"These are the decisions that captains must make, and make regularly," continues Spock, with increasing heat in his voice. "This was made perfectly clear in the Academy and you are not even listening to me, are you."

"Yeah, you're not telling me anything I haven't heard a hundred times before," says Jim. 

"You are unbelievable." Spock is outright seething now, much more than his supposed Vulcan self-control can account for – his voice is tight with controlled fury, but he's still doing a better job at keeping himself under control than Jim, who can feel his fingernails biting into his palms by his sides. "I cannot imagine how you managed to get through the Academy on the command track while maintaining this attitude – or," he says, that unfamiliar darkness coming over his eyes again, "perhaps I can. It must have been quite helpful to have a father martyred in the service of Starfleet - "

Jim isn't even aware that he's moving until he feels the familiar sharp pain in his hand. The shock on Spock's face is obvious, behind the hand he's holding to his reddening jaw – he isn't even trying to hide it, possibly because he's still trying to wrap his head around the fact that his superior officer just punched him. Jim can't really blame him – his hand still hurts and _he's_ having a hard time believing it.

"Take whichever way you want," he says hollowly, massaging his sore knuckles. "I'm going forward." He glances over at the others, still wide-eyed and frozen in surprise. "Whoever wants to can come with me. If you think Commander Spock is more likely to get you out of here, fine." He grabs his pack and hauls it over his shoulder. "Moment of truth."

Sulu looks over at Spock, just for a second, then goes over to join Jim. Acherra doesn't even hesitate to do the same, but Chapel does, looking back at Alonso, who's sitting on the ground and determinedly not meeting anyone's eyes. Then Chapel looks at Spock, briefly, before her eyes come to rest sadly on Jim. "I can't leave my patient," she says quietly, and Jim nods.

"Good luck," he says, his voice empty.

Spock looks at him blankly for a long moment, before he manages to say, "You as well." Jim guesses this might mean he feels a little bad, or else he might've made some comment about reason, rationality, and the nonexistence of luck. That doesn't make Jim want to keep hitting him any less.

When they set off down their cave of choice, Jim doesn't look back.

The hiking is quiet at first, Jim in the lead with his lightstick. Sulu follows behind, looking grimly determined even though his face is shiny with sweat and almost gray, and Acherra brings up the rear.

This cave, at least, is more or less straightforward, although it doesn't stay at an incline for very long. There are no side-caves or other options, though, which makes Jim feel at least less uncertain about his choice.

Which is about the only thing making him less uncertain. He can't shake the feeling that every step he takes is in the wrong direction.

After about fifteen minutes, Sulu clears his throat.

"Doctor Acherra," he says respectfully.

"Lieutenant," says Acherra in reply.

"I don't want to sound rude, but I really need a distraction and I've been wondering – why did you come with us?"

Jim looks behind him to see the look on Acherra's face, her eyebrows raised sardonically.

"You mean, why did I choose to follow the person who risked himself and four other members of his crew to save my life after everyone else had given up over the person who was standing there arguing that I should have been left to die?" she says.

"When you put it like that..." says Sulu.

"While Commander Spock had a point," says Acherra, "I must say that I am somewhat attached to my life, and would prefer not to lose it. Of course, I may be a bit biased."

"Just a bit," mutters Jim. Despite his increasing discomfort with his choice of paths, his head isn't pounding quite as much as it was a quarter of an hour ago, even though his shoulders and neck are getting more and more stiff from the consistent weight of his pack.

"What about you?" asks Acherra.

"The Captain saved my life four months ago," says Sulu. "Well, all of our lives, but mine twice. We were on a...it's a long story, but I was falling from a very...high height, and he jumped off to get me, to try to use his chute for the both of us."

"It didn't work," Jim reminds him.

"No," Sulu agrees. "But you tried. And besides, Pavel got us, so it was all okay."

"But it's the thought that counts?"

"Exactly, sir."

They keep walking.

After about ten more minutes, Acherra begins, "I am not certain - " and then they reach another cavern.

This one is different from the other – it's several different levels again, but this time the levels have stairs linking them. The walls have small alcoves with statues, and there are walkways and stairs linking several different platforms and levels.

"Oh," says Acherra, very quietly.

"Is this one of Yareida's sites?" asks Sulu, his voice hushed as well.

"No," says Acherra. "No, I think if it were, she would have written several papers on it."

"Where's the light coming from?" wonders Jim, looking up and around. There are no chandeliers, no candelabras or sources of artificial light, nor skylights or anything that could be letting in daylight.

"That's...weird," says Sulu, also looking around.

"I recognize some of these," says Acherra, looking at the statues. She points. "Serserra. Jalien. Wenale – these are the gods of the Harrihani."

Jim follows Acherra's indications. The statue of Jalien is baring its teeth, its arms held behind it as though tied; Serserra holds her hands just below her eyes, and Wenale has her arms crossed across her chest defensively. The other statues are in similarly unconventional poses, and Jim remembers what Yareida had said – _linked to certain physical traits_.

There's a statue in the middle of the cavern, Jim notices. He's behind it, so he can't see what it is, but he heads straight towards it. Acherra follows, continuing to look around and name the Harrihani deities, while Sulu is too busy just _looking_.

Viewed from the front, the statue is just a man, standing there with his eyes closed. His arms are twisted at his sides in a way that looks quite frankly painful, so his palms are out and the backs of his hands brush the sides of his legs – Jim is fairly certain that the pose may in fact be physically impossible in humans, although apparently the Harrihani were double-jointed.

The most curious thing about the statue is the plaque at its base, covered in tiny writing. Jim kneels to get a closer look, then looks at Acherra, surprised.

"Doctor Acherra, could you come here a sec and read this?"

Acherra frowns at him, but obligingly begins walking towards him. "I don't read Harrihani," she reminds him.

"Not a problem," says Jim, "because I'm ninety percent certain this is in Spanish. Or at least, I'm assuming it's Spanish – I can't imagine any other reason the Latin alphabet would be used."

Acherra bends down next to him and takes a look. "Huh," she says, reading it. Then her eyebrows jump almost to her hairline, and she rocks back on her heels.

"Anything you'd like to share with the class?" asks Jim irritably.

"What?" says Acherra, looking around almost fearfully. "Oh – yes, sorry. 'Here we celebrate Leapa, he who we do not need to speak about because he lives always in our thoughts and our hearts. Leapa, who gave us our thoughts, that we made into a weapon.'" She clears her throat. "'We warn all those who may enter: these caves are poison. This valley is death. The trick of a coward will lure all those who can hear the song of Leapa into the caves like the spider wooing the fly, and turn them against each other, so that they will wander in the darkness until they are taken to a merciful death. This weapon repulsed the mogotes, who showed their rejection with fire and took almost all of our people into the cloak of death. We who remain will warn our children, and hope they do not hear the song of Leapa and are confined to the words spoken by the mouth, and not the mind; we are not many and our blood will thin, but because the force of the floods and the heat of the sun cannot fade this sin, we warn you: turn back.'"

Nobody says anything for a long moment.

"The song of Leapa," says Sulu uncertainly. "Do you think that means...were the Harrihani telepathic?"

"I am not an expert," says Acherra. "But...it would answer more questions than it would raise."

"This was the weapon," says Jim quietly. "Not the fire in the sky or whatever."

"Sodium?" suggests Sulu. "If fresh water reached one of the deposits at the same time that they were supposedly making this weapon..."

"Hell of a coincidence, in terms of timing," mutters Jim.

"This does explain why Spock's been acting..." Sulu breaks off, struggling for a diplomatic description. "Like he's been acting."

"He's always like that," mutters Jim absently, examining the plaque. "Why did they put it here, though? I mean, anyone getting here would obviously already _be_ in the caves..."

Acherra looks at the plaque too, then at the cave opening directly facing it. "Perhaps not," she says, standing back up. "Perhaps..."

Jim and Sulu get the idea at the same time, and follow her to the mouth of the cave. Whatever lies beyond it is just as dark as the inside of the cave, if not darker, taking into consideration the strange, sourceless light, but there's something different about the sounds – it takes a second for Jim to realize that he's hearing the hissing of waves on a shore.

The ocean.

As his eyes begin to adjust to the dim pre-dawn glow, he can see stars – tons of them, almost like he's in orbit, without any light pollution whatsoever. The water absorbs the starlight, and there are no glittering reflections to hint at the ocean – he has to deduce its presence by the small tells that are becoming more apparent, like the salty taste to the air and the rhythmic noise of the waves. Looking down, Jim can see that they're only twenty feet up the side of a mogote, with nothing but the shore before them.

"We're out," says Sulu, almost as if he can't believe it.

"I know where we are," says Acherra, looking around and brandishing her lightstick.

"Oh, fuck," says Jim, with feeling.

"...sir?"

Jim points back to the mogote behind them, and the mogotes even further beyond it. "If we're out," he says, "then they went the wrong way. And that damn song of Leapa or what-the-fuck-ever is going to keep them going in circles and they won't make it out."

"Oh," says Sulu, his voice sounding smaller.

Acherra takes a deep breath, then lets it out. "I hope you won't think me a coward, Captain," she says, "but I cannot make myself go back in."

Jim shakes his head, slowly. On one hand, having a few more people with him in those damn dark tunnels would be nice. On the other hand... "I wouldn't ask you to," he says eventually. "Sulu, you and Acherra get to the van - _no arguing_ , this is what a direct order looks like, Lieutenant – and bring it back here. If I'm not out in two hours, then go back to the Enterprise and tell Bones..." He falters, then steadies himself again. "Tell Bones to send a full rescue team to save our sorry asses, understood?"

"Understood, sir," says Sulu. "I...hope it doesn't come to that, Captain."

"Me, too," says Jim, depositing his pack at the mouth of the cave – at this point, if he's in there long enough to actually need any of it, he'll be screwed enough that it won't make any difference. "Good luck, you two."

"I think you'll need it more, sir," says Sulu darkly. Jim chooses to take that as a "you, too."

He keeps the lightstick clipped to his collar, keeping his hands free so that he can jog through the caves; there's an hour of distance between him and Spock's group, and he feels no particular need to linger any longer than he has to. He tries not to think about the chances of Spock actually believing him as he runs, or about the building pressure beneath his temples – just because he's aware of the cause now doesn't mean he can ignore its effects.

He's completely lost track of time by the time he sees the glow of Spock's group's lightsticks flickering against the side of a tunnel ahead, and hears their familiar voices.

" - out of here, no matter what condition we're in," Yareida is saying. "The materials to treat an infection of this kind are readily available _outside_ the caves - "

"Is that a light?" comes Chapel's voice, as Jim rounds the curve, more than a little winded from running practically the whole way.

"Oh, hey, guys," he says, as casually as he can manage. "Sorry, I ran here – turns out you're going the wrong way – we got out. Sulu and Acherra are getting the van now, and I told them that if I wasn't back in two hours they should get a rescue team from the ship so we should probably get going - "

"You found a way out?" says Alonso.

"Among other things," says Jim, finally getting his breathing under control. His sweat is cooling against his skin now that he's not exerting himself anymore, and it's really uncomfortable. "We found the Harrihani's weapon."

"There was no weapon," says Spock. "The sodium deposits - "

Jim shakes his head. "Were probably what went boom," he agrees, "but there was a weapon. The Harrihani were telepaths, and before they got themselves killed they fixed up a trap – the whole damn Valley. It's messing with our heads, trying to get us to go the wrong way, keep us in here like some kind of roach motel - "

"And how did you discover this?" asks Spock.

"We found a temple," says Jim. "There were statues – Julien, Serserra, some other guy whose name I can't remember but it started with a 'w' - "

"Wenale?" asks Yareida, looking at him sharply.

"Yeah," says Jim. "And a statue that Acherra didn't recognize at first – there was a plaque, written in Spanish, talking about the song of Leapa."

"We've never been able to figure out what that was," says Yareida, her eyes widening. "There are references, but no explanations - "

"It's telepathy," explains Jim. "Well. We think. The point is, the Harrihani put up a warning in Spanish, telling people to steer clear of the Valley, in a cavern right by the exit. The cave leads right out to the coast – Acherra recognized where we were, and took Sulu to get the van, but in less than two hours they're going to leave and get a rescue team from the Enterprise, so it'd be really nice if we could get there _before_ the massive waste of resources."

Nobody says anything for a long moment.

"I must say," says Spock slowly, "that certainly sounds...creative."

Jim reminds himself that he saw this coming. It doesn't help "And what exactly is that supposed to mean."

"You have a history of histrionics and deception when you find yourself in positions such as these," says Spock, his eyes narrowing minutely. "Or did you think the circumstances of your arrival on the Enterprise to be forgotten?"

"I wouldn't call my hands swelling up like freaking balloons 'histrionics'," says Jim. He can feel himself beginning to lose his temper, and knows that he should calm himself down, be the voice of reason – but he can't. "And I think you just don't like that you were wrong."

"I am not yet convinced that I was," Spock retorts.

"Maybe we should - " begins Chapel, but neither Jim nor Spock are really listening to her – or to anyone else, at this point.

"There isn't time for your wounded pride," says Jim tightly. "Unless you want to die here, in which case I think Starfleet would have a couple choice things to say to me about the proper care and handling of first officers - "

"As if Starfleet will not have, as you say, a couple choice things to say to you in any case about the proper care and handling of your entire crew," says Spock.

"Do I have to make it an order, _Commander_?" Jim demands.

"The first rule of command is to never issue an order you know will not be followed, _Captain_ ," Spock returns.

"But you're not the one in command, and I believe the traditional Enterprise punishment for attempted mutiny is being jettisoned onto an ice planet. Are you volunteering?"

He can hear Alonso suck in a breath at 'mutiny,' but ignores it.

"You are not qualified to captain a shuttlecraft, let alone the Enterprise," says Spock, and his voice has the low, almost growly tone that Jim recognizes as him being really, exceedingly pissed off. "You have made your dedication to endangering the lives of your crew in new and exciting ways evident within your first away mission, which is quite an accomplishment, and the fact that this is becoming habitual - "

"I'm done with this bullshit," Jim snaps, picking up Spock's pack from where it's lying half-opened on the ground and half-throwing, half-shoving it into Spock's chest before pointing back the way he came. "Shut up and start walking – that's an order."

Spock's eyes widen, just the slightest bit, and then narrow again as he lets his pack fall to the ground. "Make me," he says.

Jim is so close - _so_ close – to throwing a punch then and there, before he realizes that sometimes words can be so much more satisfying. He smirks. "You okay, Spock?" he says, as lightly as he can with his hands still shaking with fury. "You look a little angry."

Then he reminds himself, while ducking, to tell Spock the next time they're sparring to watch his punches, because this one was so telegraphed it could probably be seen from orbit.

This time, Jim actually manages to get a punch in, landing one right on the side of Spock's nose; unfortunately, this leaves Spock an opening, and the air rushes from Jim's lungs as Spock nails him right in the solar plexus. Spock doesn't leave him time to recover, just grabs him by the shoulders and throws him against the cave wall, and for a second Jim sees nothing but fireworks as his head impacts the hard stone. And then Spock's face comes into resolution, hauling him back up and pinning him against the stone, one hand going to Jim's throat and he can see Chapel, Alonso, and Yareida running towards them but he can't fucking _breathe_ \- 

 

\- until he can again, when Spock backs off, eyes bewildered. Jim rolls off the console, coughing so hard he barely notices when his forearms hit the carpeted floor, trying to catch his breath.

It takes him a second to realize what, exactly, is wrong with this picture.

The lights of the Enterprise bridge are dimmed, all the stations empty, and Spock's looking around like he barely recognizes it. Jim tries to hide his own confusion as he uses the console to haul himself up until he's standing, albeit on weak legs.

He stays hunched over, his arms braced against his thighs, and, after a good look around, says, "...okay, _what_?"

Spock looks back at Jim, still looking confused. "This should not be possible," he says.

"You're getting really good at that, by the way," Jim adds, motioning vaguely to his neck. "You know, the choking thing."

Spock's eyes dart to Jim's neck. "I lost my temper," he murmurs.

"Yeah, well, so did I," says Jim, straightening. He can almost breathe normally again, and just being back on his bridge, no matter how bizarre or possibly hallucinatory the reason, is unbelievably calming. "More than once."

"That was the intention of the Harrihani?" says Spock, uncertainly. "With their weapon? To cause discord and chaos - "

Jim asks, with more curiosity than accusation, "So you believe me now?"

Spock looks around. "Wherever we are," he says, "I believe we are free of its influence here. I can feel – its absence, I suppose, now."

"Speaking of which, where the hell are we?"

Spock shakes his head minutely. "The only...there is – between a pair that has undergone a previous mind-meld, other prolonged contact in situations of high stress can initiate something similar, in which both participants, for lack of a better term, can take refuge in one of their minds. I am familiar enough with my own mental landscape to know that this is not my own, and therefore we must be...in yours." He looks around again, his brows knit. "Curious. However, as we have not previously undergone a mind-meld, I am at a loss to explain precisely how this came to pass."

"Well," says Jim, a little guiltily.

Spock narrows his eyes at him. "I believe I would remember such an occurrence," he says flatly.

"It wasn't you," says Jim. "Necessarily. Maybe. I'm not all that up on identity issues across alternate realities."

Spock raises his eyebrows. "The – 'me' from the alternate reality underwent a mind-meld with you," he says disbelievingly.

This time it's Jim's turn to frown. "How'd you know _you_ were the one from the alternate reality?"

"I am acquainted with my counterpart," allows Spock.

"He told me the universe would end if you met," says Jim flatly.

"I believe he implied," says Spock mildly. "In all fairness, he neglected to mention the mind-meld to me."

"You're a bit of a conniving bastard in your old age," Jim grumbles, and Spock gives him a look.

"It is curious," he says, "that your mind is...as it is."

Jim surveys the bridge. "What, were you expecting Kansas? A bar, maybe?"

"That you would associate the Enterprise with...comfort, and safety, given all that we've been through here. Four months of frustratingly routine missions and the one patch of excitement being the near-death experience with Nero..."

"Yeah," says Jim slowly, "I may have a bit of an edge, there." Spock raises an eyebrow at him, and Jim continues, "When the other you did the mind-meld – there was some stuff that got in around the edges. I don't think he meant to, but it was right after Vulcan...it's mostly just impressions, feelings. Dreams, every now and then. The only thing that really comes through clear is that this...is home."

He feels a rush of pride at that, like something warm uncurling in his stomach, and when he looks over at Spock, he looks distant, his hand hovering somewhere almost over his chest.

 _Emotional transference_ , thinks Jim, and can't help but grin. _Shoe's on the other foot. Ha!_ "Did you feel that?" he asks, and Spock's attention snaps back to him.

"Emotional transference is a recorded effect of a mind-meld," he says, a bit shakily.

"That's almost word-for-word what he said," Jim agrees, and he can see the second Spock realizes that the pride he's feeling isn't Jim's, but his own – or it will be.

But Jim's own good mood doesn't last long. "You were right," he says eventually. "I wasn't taking any of this seriously. I overestimated us, and underestimated...well, the whole damn Valley."

"I do not believe you are entirely to blame," says Spock slowly. "Even given the unforeseen circumstances, I cannot help but notice that we are, indeed, alive. Not only that, but we have fulfilled our mission and recovered Doctor Acherra and the samples required for her cure."

"Assuming it works," says Jim. "And assuming we still make it out of here."

Spock watches him for a long moment. "I still do not understand," he says quietly. "Either you are supremely talented at appearing unaffected, or you truly _were_ unaffected, and I still cannot determine which is the case."

Jim glances over at him, then away. "It's called gallows humor, Spock," he says. "They're the jokes you tell when everything's gone to hell in a handbasket to keep from crying."

Spock nods, thoughtfully. "You demanded much of us," he says.

"Too much," Jim agrees.

Spock looks away, considering. "You demanded much of us, and we performed to your expectations. There are those who would say that is the mark of a good captain."

"Not great?" tries Jim, grinning crookedly.

"No," says Spock, before allowing, "not yet."

They're both quiet for a moment, Spock watching the floor and Jim watching Spock. He looks exhausted here – his eyes half-lidded and dulled, his posture not quite as correct as usual. Jim tries to count back the hours since Spock last slept – not since planetfall, at least, which makes it at least forty-eight - 

"How do we get out of here?" he asks, looking around. "I mean, not that I'm not glad that you're not choking me to death at the moment - "

"I must apologize - "

" - no, don't – I pushed you into it, that isn't why I brought it up - "

" - once could be considered an accident, but twice is - "

" - I mean, we both said things that we didn't mean..."

They both fall silent at the same time, and only the faint humming of the nonexistent consoles remains. This time, Spock breaks it.

"And things we did."

Jim glances over at him. "Yeah," he says heavily. "I guess so."

"We have not been communicating as efficiently as would be hoped for," says Spock. "I am your First Officer. It is therefore my duty to advise you, whether you are willing to receive that advice or not. However, as you selected me for the position, I would hope that you would at least consider what I have to say."

"I listen to you," Jim protests. Spock just raises a skeptical eyebrow. "I do! I just...disagree most of the time."

"And you are well within your rights to do so," Spock agrees. "However, some indication of consideration would be appreciated."

"I didn't realize I was hurting your feelings," says Jim, only half-joking. Something about his tone makes Spock glance down at his neck, and he clears his throat.

"I must apologize for my recent behavior," he says formally.

"Seriously, don't worry about it," says Jim. "I was spoiling for a fight, and I'm so good at pushing your buttons I'm considering putting it on my resume."

"That will most likely be unnecessary," says Spock. "At this juncture, I do not believe that Starfleet will truly revoke your command."

"Given that it looks like we're all going to make it out alive, you're probably right," says Jim. "But maybe they should. This was...risky, to say the least."

"And yet...the gains were quite substantial," says Spock thoughtfully. "As you said – often – we did save a woman's life, to say nothing of the possible knowledge to be gained from her work."

"I still should've listened to you more," says Jim.

"I am gratified to know that you are giving my words such careful looking-over now that they have the opportunity to be so useful," says Spock, his voice bone-dry. Jim gives him a look.

"Was that some teasing?"

"Vulcans never tease."

Jim has to fight a smile now, but he looks out the viewscreen into what looks like an infinity of stars. "And do half-Vulcans?"

He can feel Spock's smile, something fragile and warm and just a bit aching in his chest, but when he turns around to see it, Spock's expression is as carefully blank as usual. Jim opens his mouth to say something -

 

And suddenly Jim is in the increasingly familiar position of being on his knees, gasping for breath. He looks up – Chapel and Yareida are pulling back Spock, who looks more confused than angry at the moment, and Alonso is leaning by him.

"Captain?" she says anxiously. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," wheezes Jim, meeting Spock's eyes. "Let him go."

Chapel and Yareida exchange a skeptical glance, but follow his order; Spock resettles his uniform shirt before raising a hand to his nose – it's bleeding greenly.

"You feeling okay?" asks Jim.

"Much better, thank you," says Spock.

"Captain...?" says Alonso.

"Here, you dropped this," says Jim, handing Spock his pack. Spock takes it, and settles it on his shoulders. "Everybody ready?"

"Captain," says Chapel, " _what the hell just happened_?"

"The Harrihani device has been affecting all of our judgments, and obviously I include myself in that statement," says Spock coolly. "I therefore recommend that we exit the caves as quickly as possible."

"Two seconds ago you refused to listen to the Captain," snaps Yareida.

Jim and Spock trade a glance. "Felt longer," says Jim. "Come on, folks, let's move out."

 

Jim has the misfortune to glance in one of the observation windows of the shuttle as they approach the Enterprise – the darkness of space outside makes it reflective, and Jim winces. He's already peeling from the sunburn, and he has smudges beneath his eyes, which are bloodshot anyway. He consoles himself with the knowledge that Spock looks worse.

"Home, sweet home," he mutters to himself as the Enterprise comes into view. He's sitting in the back this time, across from Spock, and they trade a quick, understanding glance before Jim can't hold back his snicker at Spock's green raccoon-eyes. Apparently Vulcan noses break the same as human ones.

Chekov and Uhura are waiting for them by the shuttle bay doors, Chekov looking anxious and Uhura looking as collected as ever, although she frowns as Spock exits the shuttle.

"Did you get in a fight?" she asks, coming to meet them.

Spock glances over at Jim. "My nose had an altercation with the Captain's fist," he allows.

"It was a lucky shot," says Jim, shrugging. "The 'altercations' that _your_ fist had with my face and solar plexus, though..."

Uhura's eyebrows nearly reach her hairline, but Jim continues before she can say anything, "Lieutenant Uhura, Ensign Chekov, this is Doctor Jordanca Acherra. She's got some samples that we should get to the lab right away, and then she'll need guest quarters...I have to admit, I kind of thought Bones would want to meet us here," he adds, looking around.

"I currently have the conn," admits Chekov. "There was...a situation while you were on the planet, sir."

"A situation?" says Sulu.

"Lieutenant Ilbenin was a Romulan agent in disguise," says Uhura. "But we apprehended him before he could do any lasting damage."

"And non-lasting damage?" demands Jim.

"Doctor McCoy is in sickbay," says Chekov.

"What else is new?" mutters Chapel.

"Ah, no," says Chekov, a bit sheepishly, "as a patient. When it became clear that he would be apprehended, Ilbenin drew a knife - "

"Right, I'm taking back the conn," says Jim, barely resisting the temptation to run to sickbay immediately and pointing at the away team. "All of you, sickbay – you know exactly what bruises you need patched up. Nurse Chapel, let the ranking medical officer know that Spock isn't to be released for at least, oh, fifteen hours, and at least twelve of those need to be spent sleeping, no matter how much he says he's fine." He turns back to Chekov and Uhura. "You two...keep up the good work."

And then he _does_ run to sickbay.

Bones is awake when Jim gets there, slightly out-of-breath, although he takes a moment to compose himself before entering.

"So you said you didn't want to see me in Sickbay after this," says Jim, strolling in, "but does it still count if you're the one confined to bedrest?"

"Rub it in, why don't you," growls Bones. He's sitting up in his bed, a PADD on his lap and a scowl on his face. "How'd your cakewalk go?"

"Bit less of a cakewalk than expected," Jim admits, perching on the bed next to him. "There was a bit of life-risking, but all for the sake of the greater good. What happened here?"

Bones frowns at the mention of life-risking, but ignores it. "Uhura uncoded a transmission emanating from the ship – in Romulan. Between that and some inconsistencies in his crew physical we did some detective work and tracked down Lieutenant Ilbenin, but he fought back and jabbed a pigsticker in my side. Then Chekov tackled him," he adds, grinning a little, "like a linebacker. Now _that_ was a sight."

"Wish I could've been there," says Jim, smiling back.

"And what the hell happened to you guys?" Bones adds, as the rest of the away team files into Sickbay. "Spock, who'd you lose a fight with to get _that_?"

Spock raises an eyebrow. "Actually, I won," he says.

"More of a draw," says Jim. "Or a mutual laying down of arms."

"If you would like," says Spock, eyebrow still raised, "I would be happy to engage in a rematch."

Jim winces at the mere thought of it. "Better not," he agrees.

Bones looks at Spock, then at Jim, then at Spock again. "Somebody'd better tell me what the hell happened," he says.

"Later," says Jim, laying back on the bed and closing his eyes. "I'm exhausted."

The news comes down two days later, when the results from the lab come back. Spock tells Jim on the bridge, his face carefully blank, and Jim nods and waits out the rest of his shift before going back to his quarters and opening up subspace communications.

The other Spock doesn't appear particularly surprised to be disturbed.

"Jim," he says, as warmly as he ever says anything. "I heard your latest mission was quite an unanticipated adventure."

"It was a doozy," Jim agrees, before cutting right to the chase. "The first time around – I know I wasn't on the Enterprise, but you were, right? Under Pike?"

Spock nods slowly. "You have questions?"

"Just one," says Jim. "Did you guys get this mission?"

Spock is quiet for a long moment. "Yes," he says eventually. "We did. The botanist – Doctor Acherra? - had disappeared a few days before our arrival, and Captain Pike decided not to risk the personnel to attempt to retrieve her, given the conditions."

It's Jim's turn to nod. "And Newcomb's Ague?"

"Raged across the galaxy for two years before a vaccine was created," answers Spock. "A vaccine, not a cure. The final death toll was in the billions." Spock examines Jim's expression in the console. "Acherra's cure works."

"It works," Jim says. "Not for all species tested so far, but it's a majority."

Spock nods. "You did well."

"I gambled," says Jim. "Next time I might not win."

"I hope I don't sound excessively self-serving when I say that you have a wonderful crew and First Officer to guide you," says Spock modestly. "A First Officer who, I might add, contacted me with a not -dissimilar conversation approximately half an hour ago."

"About that," says Jim, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. "The universe didn't end."

"Apparently not," agrees the older Spock. "Even after, I've been given to understand, you and he actually had a conversation about your emotions."

Jim winces. "I've been trying not to think about it like that."

"We do feel, Jim," Spock reminds him. "And very deeply. Don't forget that."

Jim thinks of the sensation in his chest when he could have sworn Spock was smiling. "I don't think there's any chance of that," he says eventually.

The older Spock nods, once. "Farewell, Jim." He lifts a hand, forming it into the Vulcan salute. "Live long and prosper."

And then the viewscreen is blank.

Jim just sits for a long moment, thinking about everything and nothing in particular.

Eventually his door chimes, and he's brought back to himself. "Come in," he calls, and the door opens. Spock is standing there, holding a box with a checkerboard pattern on top.

"Captain," he says. "May I enter?"

"Yeah, of course," says Jim, standing up uncertainly. "Is everything okay?"

"I have news from Starfleet Command," says Spock. "The personnel files of Lieutenants Sulu and Alonso, Nurse Chapel, myself, and yourself have all been noted with commendations for the New Antilles mission. We have also been assigned diplomatic duties on the Klingon border – I have forwarded all the relevant transmissions to you, although I thought perhaps you had yet to see them."

"Klingon border?" Jim repeats. "Well, that's..."

"A border patrol," says Spock.

"A _Klingon_ border patrol," says Jim. "I've never been in a fistfight with a Klingon."

"There's a first time for everything," says Spock. "Although I have a feeling that particular first will be relatively soon."

"Ha!" Jim jerks his chin in the direction of the box. "What's that? Are they pinning medals on my chest already?"

Spock raises an eyebrow. "Hardly." He hesitates, just for a second. "This is a chess set. I thought, perhaps, if you knew how to play...?"

"Oh," says Jim, a slow grin spreading over his face, "I know how to play."

Spock takes this as the invitation that it is, and puts the set on Jim's desk. It folds out to become the board, the pieces contained within; Spock begins setting it up rapidly, and Jim just watches.

"Have you ever played kamikaze-style?" he asks idly.

Spock's hands slow a bit in their setup of the board. "I cannot say I am familiar with that variation."

"Speed chess, essentially," says Jim. "You have to move within three seconds, or your opponent gets to start distracting you in the most obnoxious ways they can think of. Last piece standing wins, kings be damned."

"That sounds exceedingly illogical," says Spock. "You must be very good at it."

"Hell yeah, I am," Jim agrees, and Spock places the last pawn and spins the board so that Jim has white. "You up for the challenge?"

Spock narrows his eyes, examining the board. "I believe white moves first," he says, with a light in his eyes that Jim recognizes as being interplanetary body language for _bring it_.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," says Jim, picking a pawn at random and moving it forward. Spock frowns, and Jim silently counts to two before Spock darts forward and brings out a knight. Jim moves in reply, and they keep playing until Spock takes the first piece – just one of Jim's pawns, but Jim curses anyway.

"You're better at this than I thought you would be," he admits.

"Chess is, at its base, a logical game, even this variant," says Spock.

"If you're using logic, we're not going fast enough," says Jim, immediately stepping up the pace. Spock obliges, and Jim is pleased to see his moves become sloppier.

"So," says Jim, taking one of Spock's knights with a pawn. "Klingons."

"Indeed," says Spock absently, moving a bishop out of danger.

"Could be dangerous." Jim moves his rook, _click_.

"Klingons usually are." _Click_.

"Could be fun." _Click_.

A slight hesitation from Spock, until he brings his queen forward. "I have no doubt that it will be a challenge."

"A fun challenge," Jim presses. _Click_.

Spock gives a very, very small smirk, and takes Jim's queen. "Perhaps. Your move."

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the Simple Verses by José Martí. A translation of the lines in question is: "And everything, much like the diamond/Before it is light it is coal."
> 
> I'm no geologist, but I can say with some certainty that naturally-occurring pure sodium deposits are not a thing that could actually happen. However, explosions are cool and I regret nothing.


End file.
